


Two Leapers and a Baby

by BJackson



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 14:43:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BJackson/pseuds/BJackson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al joins Sam in an unusual leap as his pregnant wife. And if they don't fix things, both of them will disappear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    Sam Beckett was being transported through a cerulean void, cell by cell, atom by atom, waiting to be deposited somewhere in the macrocosm of time. Were he anyone else this might seem like an unusual event, but to Sam this was any other Tuesday. Or Wednesday, for all he knew. He stopped keeping track of the days of the week once he became a time traveler. In any event, if it _were_ Tuesday in his present time he would have no memory of it being Tuesday, or what that present year actually was. He could only focus on what year he was currently falling into, although he usually didn't do that quite so literally.

    The ethereal blue sparks left his vision and he became solid matter again. Unfortunately, leaping through time was hell on his initial sense of balance. Before he could catch himself, he came crashing to the ground, landing ungracefully in a pile of boxes and various as-yet-unidentified items. With a quick glance upwards, he spied the ladder he was previously standing on.

    "Oh boy," he groaned, and tipped his head back. Well, at least he had landed on something _soft_. Soft, pointy, cardboardy. As he was extricating himself from this pathetic pile he heard the sound of a door opening and a voice calling out. 

    "Mr. Tanaka? Is everything okay in here?" A heavyset young man with red hair stuck his head inside, his eyes growing big when he spotted Sam's situation. "Mr. Tanaka! Hey, are you okay?"

    Sam had just managed to get himself to his feet when the young man rushed over. "Yeah, I'm fine, uh..." Before he could fumble too much, he spotted a name tag on the other man's coat. He tried to read it as inconspicuously as possible. "...uh, Lenny. I'm just embarrassed is all." It was the truth. Unfortunately Sam had become all too familiar with embarrassment after leaping into so many awkward and off-putting situations. Although he was ecstatic that, for once, Whoever was controlling these leaps had deigned to label whoever it was he was supposed to know. And from what Lenny had called him, he at least had half a name for himself. 

    Brushing himself off, Sam found he was wearing a similar jacket with a name tag of its own, supplying him with the first name Akio. Sometimes, what he needed fell right into his hands. The jacket overlaid a tacky button-down with geometrical shapes, allowing him the educated assumption that he was somewhere in the 80s. Yuck. It looked like something Al would wear. 

    "Well I'm glad you're okay," said Lenny with a relieved sigh, "You've got enough to worry about at home without adding a broken leg or something to the list! Sheesh, look at this mess..." He began to pick up bottles, boxes, and bags and place them back in the larger boxes or on the shelves. 

    Sam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "S-Sorry about that. Here, let me help." 

    He _had_ made the mess after all; he should clean it up. He retrieved a bottle from the floor and, realizing he had no idea where any of this went, tried to assess where it should go without looking like he had no idea what he was doing. Lenny either didn't notice his slowness or was too polite to say anything.

    Just what was he holding anyway? Sam brought up the tiny container and inspected the label, finding a name and a prescription. Pills! Indeed, Sam seemed to be in the back room of a pharmacy. _At last, a profession I know a little something about!_ He thought with relief. As a doctor, Sam was more than comfortable handling medication. That is, when his swiss-cheesed brain allowed him access to that knowledge, and when he actually knew he was a doctor. Like now, for instance. At least, he _thought_ he remembered everything he needed to, but if he swiss-cheesed it, how would he ever know?

    As he began placing the bottles back where they belonged, he wondered if this leap had something to do with a customer at the pharmacy. Maybe they'd gotten a prescription mixed up, and Sam was here to prevent them from taking the wrong medication or dosage. Or...this could have nothing at all to do with the pharmacy, and instead deal with Mr. Tanaka personally. What was that Lenny had mentioned about problems at home? Sam couldn't determine his exact course of action until Al came to him with more information. And who knew exactly when _he_ would show up? 

\-------

    This was not a typical Tuesday, Wednesday, Whatever-day for Admiral Al Calavicci. In fact, he no longer had any idea what a typical day of the week was for him, because he awoke in a strange bed with a swiss-cheesed memory and an ever-increasing sense of panic. 

    "Carumba!" 

    He rocketed up into a sitting position. Where the hell was he? The room was unfamiliar, slightly askew, with random old junk covering the dresser and stuffed into the corners. This was _definitely_ not where he'd remembered going to sleep. And whoever he'd gone home with must have provided him with the oversized, pink, silk pajamas he was currently wearing, because they sure didn't belong to him.

    In the past, there had been many occasions where Al had woken up in a stranger's bed with no memory of the night before, but it had been a long time since he'd gotten that schnockered and there was no stranger here. The last person he remembered doing the bingo bango bongo with was...oh, who was it? High voice, red hair, legs that won't quit? Shit, why couldn't he remember?

    "Ziggy? Gooshie? What the hell is going on?" He asked the air, as if he were still in the Imaging Chamber. Imaging Chamber? What was an Imaging Chamber? And for that matter, he was having trouble figuring out just who Gooshie and Ziggy were. Damn!

    Uh-oh. Swiss-cheesing. This could only mean one thing.

    Al flung the lilac sheets aside in one swoop and managed to stumble out of the king sized bed in a frenzied search for the nearest mirror. A small, diamond-shaped mirror, just big enough to see head and shoulders, was almost hidden among a collage of polaroid photos. He raced toward it and found himself staring at a round-faced Japanese woman with a sharp bob and an extremely distressed expression.

    "Oh _boy_!" He moaned between his fingers, his hand now firmly clasped over his mouth. Not again! And a _woman_ this time? This couldn't be happening! He felt a sinking feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. No, not dread...nausea. It hit him so suddenly, he barely made it to the trash can before he was tossing his cookies. This was not a promising start. 

    Wiping his mouth in disgust, he tried to suss out just what had happened to get him into this predicament. He hadn't been a leaper since...since...since he'd simo-leaped with Sam! Yeah, that was it! He couldn't help but grin; he was proud of himself for remembering. Yeah, lightning must've struck, and he and Sam pulled a switcherooni again. Perfecto!

    Wait, no, not perfecto. Awful! This was awful! Because if Sam wasn't the one white knighting through time, then that meant _he_ was stranded as the Cosmic Boy Scout. And GTFW knows how well he did the _last_ time he was appointed that job. The memory made his stomach queasy again. No, he wasn't suited to leaping at all.

    If they'd switched places, that meant that Sam was back at the Project, back with...oh who was it? Diana? Right, his wife Diana. The one who Al couldn't tell him about, the lie he hated perpetuating. Sam would remember her now. Alarmed though Al was, he couldn't begrudge his friend for wanting to be with her after so many years apart. The kid deserved it, after all. He only hoped that Sam didn't spend too much time enjoying another return home before showing up to tell him what wrong needed to be put right. 

     _Along with how in the world they're going to retrieve me_ , he added. _But if anyone can figure out how to do it, it's Sam. Probably._  

    He hurled into the trash can again.

\-------

    Sam could get used to this. So far, this leap was turning out to be a breeze! After a closer look at the prescription dates and addresses, he was able to place himself in New York City in the fall of 1986. New York! He hadn't been to New York since...the memory eluded him. Whether or not it was a leap or a memory from his previous life he was unsure, but he didn't let his hole-filled brain spoil what was otherwise smooth sailing. It didn't take him long to figure out the system in the pharmacy, and with only a few minor hiccups, he'd gotten the hang of service. 

    It turned out this pharmacy actually belonged to Akio, and Lenny was an intern working for him after classes. As they went about their day, the young man eagerly soaked up any information he could from Sam. Sam was grateful he wasn't handing out any misinformation, especially concerning something as important as medicine. In fact, he loved teaching as much as learning, and he found himself thoroughly enjoying this job. 

    Akio appeared to be well-liked. Every customer that came in brightened when they saw Sam, and he was happy to listen to any updates on their lives they wanted to impart his way. However, he still had a little trouble when asked questions about his _own_ life. 

    "And how is the missus doing?" asked a friendly, freckled old woman. Aggie Cranshaw was her name, Sam noted from her prescription.

    "Oh, uh...she's doing just fine," Sam assured her. He hoped it was true. He had a feeling Akio wasn't candid enough with his customers to want to reveal anything further anyway.

    "I'm glad to hear," she beamed, "The baby's coming any day now, isn't it?"

    So _that's_ what Lenny meant earlier. Akio's wife was pregnant! Another stroke of luck for Sam, because not only had he leaped into a man, but he'd also avoided having to deal with a pregnancy again. Once was enough for a lifetime, thank you. Or several lifetimes, in his case. 

    "Yeah, could be any time," he answered. 

    "Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?"

    Sam smiled and drew the answer from himself, unthinkingly. "A girl. I think I'd like a daughter." Where had that thought come from, he wondered? Must be a piece of Akio's mind. But for some reason, his thoughts drifted to a little girl in the south with a ribbon in her hair...he couldn't quite make out her face. But as soon as she'd appeared, she vanished into the shadows of his mind, just out of reach. He shook away the memory as Mrs. Cranshaw finished paying, wished him luck, and said goodbye.

    More than a few of his customers spoke Japanese and, as it turns out, Japanese was one of the seven modern languages Sam knew. He was on a roll! Pleased with himself, he thought that outside of his initial crash into this lifetime, this was turning out to be one of his easiest leaps yet. Before he knew it, the day was over and Lenny was gathering his things to leave. With a friendly wave, he was out the door and Sam was alone again. 

    Now was the time to inspect Akio further without suspicious eyes to watch him. Realizing he had yet to even see what Akio looked like, he took out his wallet and studied the driver's license. His host was Japanese (as Sam had guessed), had a long face, and was in his late 30s, all-around average save for an unfortunate 80s pompadour. He had a pleasant face, although Sam had no idea what Akio was like personality-wise, but if his customers were any indication, he was a nice person. 

    Another thing to be grateful for; he hadn't leapt into a criminal of some sort. Sam absolutely hated leaping into unscrupulous people. That usually meant he had to do detestable things, and it wasn't in this farm boy's nature to hurt others. But Akio seemed to be a good sort, so Sam was, for once, not in any kind of danger or distress. It was an enjoyable and altogether too rare feeling.

    So now he knew what he looked like, his name, his profession, the time period, and, thanks to his newly acquired driver's license, a home address. Grinning, he thought of the scowl on Al's face when he'd supply all of the information it had taken him so long to collect. He'd be steamed! The admiral intensely disliked it when Sam upstaged him. That's when his Italian side would take over and there was a significant increase in hand-speak. 

    What was taking Al so long anyway? He was almost never this late to a leap. Maybe it was just a hang-up with Ziggy...Or maybe, Sam thought with worry, the leapee had gone into shock and they were having trouble locating him. He hoped no one was hurt. Not the leapee, and, heaven forbid, not Al. Had anything happened to Al before where he couldn't Observe for him? If it had, it, too, had washed away into Sam's mind gutter. In any case, he was in no immediate rush for information. His primary concern was for the people at the Project. Everything in 1986 appeared to be going surprisingly well. 

    Now if he could only figure out how to get to his new home, that would be great. Oh well. You can't be lucky all the time.

\-------

    This was no time to freak out. Al managed to get ahold of himself by tapping into his years of Naval training to assess his situation. What was the best way to go about accomplishing his mission and getting the hell out of dodge?  

_Think, Calavicci, think._

    Well, before he could complete this leap, he'd need to find out who, when, and where he was. He scanned "his" bedroom more closely. A good chunk of the items cluttering the place seemed to be related to photography as far as he could tell, but he was no expert. Should this leap hinge on his skills as a photographer, he'd had enough second-hand experience while sitting in on old friends' photo shoots to fake it. Al had led a wildly varied life and was considered a real jack of all trades, possessing a finely honed set of skills acquired by pretending he knew exactly what he was doing at all times. In other words, he was a very good bullshitter.

    This place wasn't uncleanly, but it was definitely eclectic, and not Al's style in the slightest. As outlandish as his wardrobe or personality could be, he craved neatness and order. It was too instilled in him after spending most of his life in the military. Hell, when they were trying to get the Project off the ground, he'd never have gotten anywhere with those Washington nozzles if he hadn't had an orderly filing system, meticulously crafted notes, and a slick presentation. Sam was the brain, but the pitch was his department, and suits love fastidious records. 

    His best friend, on the other hand, worked in controlled chaos. Sam might have a brilliant mind, but unfortunately he seemed to be the only one who understood it. His office had no filing pattern that anyone could figure out, but he always knew where everything was when he needed it. It was a sore point between the two of them and it drove Al nuts. Just because Sam could call on his photographic memory whenever he needed to, didn't mean the rest of the _peons_ at the Project had time to decode his ancient Beckett puzzle room. On more than one occasion he'd tried to get Sam to at least alphabetize, but the quantum physicist stubbornly refused, insisting that he "knew" his "system."

    Fine as this trip down memory lane was (and Al was grateful to still have those memories at all), this hadn't gotten him very far on this leap. _You'd think the Grand Poobah would leave me some hints or something_ , Al thought with annoyance. _You wanna send a clue my way, Big Guy?_ He wished his stomach would stop doing flip flops. Huh, must still be woozy from the leap-in. Scratching himself seemed to help, so he idly did that while he considered his game plan. 

    Aha! Ziggy was the chief programmer and Gooshie was the computer with Barbra Streisand's ego! Al bit his lip smugly. Sam need never know about his little swiss-cheesing problem. 

    Where was Sam anyway? He made a mental note to get on his friend's case about being late. As usual, it looked like it was up to him to do everything. What would that kid do without him? Probably fall to pieces without a Calavicci perched on each shoulder. 

    Well, no use in sitting on his thumbs waiting. He'd need to get out there and do some real Columbo stuff to figure out how to fix history, and that meant his first order of business was to get out of these stupid pink pajamas.

    Al had had more fantasies about women than he could count, but in not one of those fantasies did he fancy becoming one. Still, if he was going to be a woman he hoped he'd at least have a decent-sized set of bazooms. Rifling through her underwear drawer produced an impressively large over the shoulder boulder holder, and he cheekily raised an appreciative eyebrow. Now, did he actually _need_ to wear this? He didn't _really_ have any yabbos, after all. Curious now, he cupped his chest to see if he could feel his host's aura. No bazongas here. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Thank god.

    Before he could explore himself any further, he heard the sound of someone opening the door downstairs. 

\-------

    Sam's trip home had been less smooth than the previous part of his day. Akio owned a less-than-functional '82 Buick that refused to start after less than three tries. Eventually, Sam had coaxed it into running, and found the nearest gas station to pick up a map. Thankfully, it turned out he didn't live too far from the pharmacy. When he'd pulled into the driveway at dusk, he made sure to toss the map into the trash bin on the curb. If Mrs. Tanaka needed to use the car, she might find it strange that her husband needed local directions.

    The Tanaka house was located on the outskirts of the city, in a suburban area. It didn't look like a bad neighborhood, but everything was just a little worn out from age. A smile grew on Sam's lips as he opened the gate and followed the path, walking past lawn ornaments of smiling animals and oversized mushrooms. The home seemed friendly and lived in, with an autumn wreath hung warmly on the front door. As he stepped up to the entrance, his feet squished onto an old welcome mat. The slightly imperfect touches made it all the more inviting, and Sam saw shades of a farm in Elk Ridge, Indiana, states and decades apart.

    He raised his hand to knock and quickly stopped, mentally chastising himself. This was supposed to be _his_ house. He cast a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder to see if anyone had been watching, but luckily no one was outside at the moment. Once he determined which key was the one to the house, he opened the door and made his way inside.

\-------

    Al cautiously peered around the corner by the stairs to see who his visitor was. If it was a burglar or something, there was no way he was getting held up in girly things. Well, if it was a burglar, he had nice taste in clothing at least. To Al's relief, he saw the man had a set of keys, although he almost seemed like he'd never set eyes on the place before. Well, neither had Al. A quick sweep of the eye was in order. The rest of the house had the same hodgepodge design as the bedroom, a thrown together mixture of antiques and photography. 

    Good lord, he needed to pee. A cursory glance revealed no bathroom upstairs, so he decided to bite the bullet and head downwards. So who was this guy to him? How well did they know each other? In what way was he supposed to greet him? In the end, he settled for simply clearing his throat. 

\-------  
  
    Sam was startled by the sound of someone clearing their throat obnoxiously. His body swung around to see a petite woman in pink pajamas at the top of the stairs. And _extremely_ pregnant. This must be the missus....whatever her name was. A quick look at the large collection of photos of the two of them confirmed Sam's assumption. Time to put on his best face and play the part.

    "Hi there."

\-------  
  
    _Great. You couldn't even provide a name? Lot of use you are, bucko._ Al was feeling pretty stupid not even knowing what to call himself. He tried to act natural.

    "Hey, uh...you." Nailed it.

\-------  
  
    Hmm. She seemed nervous. Maybe she'd been worrying about him since he was late, Sam thought guiltily. He took a few steps toward the stairs and tried to engage her. "H-How was your day?"

\-------  
  
    How was _he_ supposed to know? He'd only just gotten up. Hold the phone, that clock over there read 8 pm. How much sleep did this woman need? Had she slept all day, or did she just go to bed extremely early? 

    Jeez, he was out of shape. It wasn't a long stairway, but it seemed to take forever. By the time he was at the bottom he was winded. _Winded_. He was glad Sam wasn't here to see this; it must have been a sad sight. It had to be a holdover from Miss Naps-a-lot, because Al Calavicci didn't get winded walking down no set of stairs. 

    Oh, right, Mr. Helpful was waiting for an answer.

    "Oh, it was...you, well, you know how it is," he finished lamely. Time to divert back to the other guy. "How was your day at, uh...?" He waited for the other man to finish for him and provide some actual information.

\-------  
  
    "Oh, you know," Sam replied with a look of awkward politeness, "it was the same old, same old at the pharmacy." At least, it had appeared to be a normal day. His "wife" leaned against the banister to catch her breath and his expression changed to concern. "Hey, why don't you sit down?"

\-------  
  
    By now, Al was beginning to notice the numerous pictures of his host and this man together. There was that ooky feeling again. He saw the ring on the other man's hand and cast his eyes down in horror to see another ring on his own. They were married! Yikes! His new spouse mentioned something about sitting down and reached for him, which prompted Al to instinctively pull out of his reach. 

    "Sit down?" he yelped, "Oh, uh, sit _down_! Say, that's a good idea, buddy!" He winced at the slip up and quickly shuffled out of the way toward the couch.

    "Is something wrong?" The man did actually seem concerned. No wonder, his wife was acting like a crazy person. But Al couldn't help it. Touching led to affection, and affection led to smooching, and Admiral Calavicci just wasn't ready yet for that kind of relationship.

    "Wrong? Nothing's wrong!" Al tried to play it off a little too loudly. "Why would anything be wrong?" To cover, he let out a natural sounding laugh.

\-------  
  
    That fake laugh was covering for something. It was the same laugh Al would use when Ziggy gave him bad news and he didn't want to tell him, and it was just as convincing. If this was something serious, Sam knew he had to do something to fix it right away, so he quickly followed his wife into the living room.

\-------  
  
    With some effort, Al managed to lower himself onto the couch. What was with him today? It felt like his body had been weighed down by a ton of bricks. He cursed himself when he realized he still desperately needed to take a leak, but he'd already made the commitment to the couch. The head might as well be a thousand miles away now. His new husband sat in the chair across from him, leaning forward. _Watch your mits there, pal_ , Al thought as he eyed the stranger's hands with suspicion.

     "Are you sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if anything's wrong."

     _Well for starters, I'm not really your wife; I'm a time-displaced_ man _who's been sent here to right some major muck-up in your life. How's that?_ He squirmed in his seat. He hadn't needed to drain the anaconda so badly in all his life. And what happened to those chameleon skills he'd just been patting himself on the back for? Must've been eaten up by the leap. Double damn! Wait a second...that's it!

    "It's nothing," Al waved dismissively, "I'm just, uh, I'm just hungry. Have you eaten yet?" He was actually starving, truth be told. Probably because he'd emptied out his lunch in the bedroom. Or his host's lunch; he'd never been sure on that one. 

\-------  
  
    Sam was uncertain about the woman before him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him. Yes, she seemed jumpy, but there was something else there under the surface. If Al were here he could have Ziggy look up her history, and Sam wished he would show up already. Well, if wishes were horses...

    Figuring he could get her to relax if he fixed something for them both to eat, he decided dinner was in order. And well, he _hadn't_ eaten yet. He got to his feet again and said, "I'll fix us some dinner, huh? What are you in the mood for?"

\-------  
  
    Say, there was a question. Al scratched his chin in thought. "Wellllll...I could really go for some cinnamon toast...oh, uh, and some pickles!" He frowned. Where had _that_ come from? It sounded like the greatest thing in the world right now, but even he knew that was weird.

    The other man grinned knowingly. "Cinnamon toast and pickles, coming right up."

    Great, now Al could go hose the porcelain. Unfortunately, getting up was easier said than done. His doting husband was, of course, ready to lend a helping hand.

    "Need some help?"

    "I got it, thanks," Al responded, irritated, as he tried to heave himself upward from the overstuffed couch. Who did this guy take him for? He wasn't some helpless woman. Though in his experience, women were rarely as helpless as they seemed. Most women, however, were not secretly a sixty-something-year-old admiral. And he was determined to get through this leap quickly, efficiently, and with his dignity intact. 

    Unfortunately, once he managed to get off the couch, he hadn't quite gotten his balance yet and ended up tripping on the coffee table. Mr. Perfect had lightning quick reflexes and was able to grab him, but that only managed to make him fall in the other direction. With an _oomph!_ Al and his uninvited hero came crashing to the ground. 

    Both men felt an electric charge surge through them, and sparks crackled from their points of contact. To either of them the other seemed to warp and ripple, changing shape, morphing into another person. And suddenly they saw each other as who they really were, eyes wide and mouths agape as they realized they were tangled on the floor with their best friend. 

    "Al?!"

    "Sam?!"

    Neither of them could form a coherent sentence for a moment. And then, in unison, the inevitable, "Oh boy!"


	2. Chapter 2

    Sam was in shock. He wanted his mouth to work, but all that was coming out was spluttering nonsense. Al was here, _physically_ , in the past! He could reach out and touch him and, in fact, they were sprawled out on the floor together after a misfired rescue attempt. Finally, he was able to throw out an elated, "Come here!" and pull his stupefied friend into a tight hug. 

    Neither of them had been solid matter to the other since...since Sam had started leaping, whenever that was. It was such a small thing, but to be able to tangibly feel his best friend's presence meant more than he could say, in any of the languages he knew. Al, too, was over the moon to be able to reach out to Sam and feel something substantial. Too often he'd been on the sidelines, cursing the fact he was a hologram when his friend had really needed him. And so they stayed in their ridiculous and overjoyed pile on the floor, an amalgam of arms, gobsmacked smiles, geometrical shirts, and silky pink pajamas. 

    "Thank god it's you, Sam!" Al exclaimed with a chuckle. Suddenly, he pulled away with a knitted brow. "Hang on, what are you doin' here?"

    "What am _I_ doing here?" asked an incredulous Sam, "What are _you_ doing here? Why aren't you at the Project?"

    "Don't I wish I knew!" Starting to get to their feet, Sam noticed Al was having trouble and reached out a helping hand. Al groaned and rubbed his stomach as he was being pulled up, assuming he was just sore from the fall, but it occurred to Sam that that tumble might've actually been dangerous. Reverting back to concern, he opened his mouth to say something, but Al spoke first. "I thought we'd simo-leaped again, but, uh...well, here you are." He tossed his hand in Sam's direction. 

    Well, he _seemed_ okay. Attention now back to the perplexing situation at hand, Sam upturned his eyebrows in thought. "What do you remember about what happened before you got here?"

    "A flat zilch, that's what," Al replied, annoyed at himself. He was touchy when it came to admitting that he had some gaps in his usually excellent memory. Maybe it reminded him of getting old. "I just woke up, and I was here."

    "Well obviously _something_ had to have happened," Sam reasoned. His mind went back to a hazy but uneasy memory of an asylum, the feeling of an electric charge, and a cannon. "Was there any lightning when I leaped last?" Al shrugged. Sam ran his tongue over his teeth as he mulled the possibilities over in his head. "Strange...Do you remember _anything_ that might be useful?"

    Al's eyes hooded as he took offense. "If I knew anything, I'd tell you, Sam." Grunting, he shifted uncomfortably and braced his hands on his back. Noticing this, an inescapable grin began to slowly creep onto Sam's face, and he placed his hand over his mouth in an attempt to disguise his smile. This only served to irritate Al more.

    "Is something amusing to you?"

    He only received a carefree shrug in response. Al glowered at him. 

    "Never mind; I don't have time for this. Help me find the head around here, will ya?" He decided to ignore him for now, exploring the house in search of the elusive bathroom. Sam simply stood in place, arms crossed and mouth open in a huge, goofy smile, as he watched Al waddle away. The short Italian scowled over his shoulder and stopped, his patience wearing thin now. "What is it? What's so funny?" 

    "Nothing," Sam smirked, "I just find it...karmic, that you leaped into who you did. Call it payback for all the grief you gave me."

    "Ha ha, Sam. I'm not kidding; this is an emergency!" Al wasn't sharing his humorous disposition. He jumped up and down to try and hold it in.

    Sam wasn't one to be cruel, but Al had spent too many years making fun of him to resist teasing. "Welcome to my hell. Every time I leap into a woman you're constantly making wisecracks at my expense, and now it's _your_ turn. Now you have to go through everything I have!"

    "Yeah yeah..." Al made some sort of noise that may or may not have been a word and waved him off, deciding to save any impressive comeback for later. He settled on a dirty look and returned to his quest to relieve himself. Evidently, Sam decided to have mercy and search along with him. "Jeez, I never knew women needed to pee this much."

    "Especially when they're pregnant," an amused Sam said offhandedly. 

    Immediately, Al came to a halt.

    Slowly spinning to face Sam, his face completely deadpan, he blinked and questioned, "What was that?"

    Oh. All this time, Sam had assumed Al had gotten a chance to look in the mirror before he'd arrived. Now, it suddenly dawned on him that Al had no idea of his condition. He didn't know whether to laugh, feel sorry for him, or both. "You mean you didn't know?"

    One could hear a pin drop in the silence that hung in the air. Very still now, Sam waited for Al's answer. At last, the quiet was broken by a sort of snort-chuckle combo. "Right, Sam, very funny. You're a barrel of laughs."

    "Who's joking?"

    "I am not pregnant," Al stated very matter-of-factly, tickled by the absurd implication. 

    "Of course you aren't," Sam agreed, a smirk still firmly on his face, "but the woman you leaped into is."

    "No-o," Al insisted, leaning his head toward him emphatically, "I think I would know if I were pregnant, and this lady is definitely _not_."

    "Oh she definitely is! Look in the mirror!" His grin growing ever wider, Sam hurried across the room and found the restroom at last, holding it open for his friend. Bladder too full to argue at the moment, Al rushed inside and gave Sam a glare before quickly slamming the door shut.

    This was going to be good. All Sam could do was bite back his laughter and wait. Inside the bathroom, there was a muffled splash and Al moaned in pleasure at his final release. Once the noise subsided, there was a brief pause as he was no doubt finally seeing his full reflection, and then...the unmistakable sounds of heaving into the toilet. The last part made Sam feel a little less pleased and a little more guilty. 

    A minute or so later, the door opened again and a pale Al Calavicci staggered out of the bathroom, sweating through his pink PJs. Staring distantly ahead, past the wall and toward god knows what, he breathed, "This can't be happening right now."

    Sam spread out his hands as if to absolve himself of any responsibility. "Sorry, Al. You're expecting."

    "Saaaaam!" Al whined, turning toward him now and flapping his arms in panic, "Sam, you've gotta help me! I can't do this!"

    "Sure you can. If I could do it, so can you." Sam tried his best to be sympathetic, although the situation was still as absurdly comical to him now as it was before. 

    "But I don't know how to be pregnant! _You've_ got more experience!"

    "Oh yeah," Sam mused, clucking his tongue, "What was it you said to me then? It was all in my head...?"

    "Now that's not fair, Sam!" Al griped and pointed defensively. "What were the odds that Gooshie's theory would be correct?"

    "You mean Ziggy."

    "Huh?"

    "You mean Ziggy's theory."

    "That's what I said." 

    Al's eyes shifted. It was Sam's turn to point, as he exclaimed accusatorily, "Your brain is swiss-cheesed!"

    "Is not!" He sounded like a petulant child. 

    "Okay, fine," Sam folded his arms again, deciding to play along, "Tell me Gooshie's real name."

    A beat. "I know it, I just can't say it," Al sneered and nodded decisively, "It's the rules, Sam. I can't tell you what you don't remember."

    "Or what _you_ don't remember! Oh, this is too good!" Sam cackled as Al fixed him with a withering gaze.

    "Oh that's nice, Sam, _really_ nice. That's very mature." He braced his back again and that only made Sam laugh harder.

    "Look at you, Al," Sam gestured toward his cotton candy pink pajamas, squinting through tear-streaked eyes, "You look ridiculous!" 

    "It's not funny, Sam," Al grumbled at the floor, nearly inaudible now. Deflated with wounded pride, his arms flopped to his sides, a sad, pink marshmallow. It would be humorous if it weren't so depressing. Now Sam's remorse came crawling back and he quieted down. He tried to comfort him, putting an arm around his shoulder. 

    "Oh come on, Al. If there's anyone who knows women, it's you. As for the pregnancy stuff, well, it's completely natural. You'll be able to deal with it."

    "A pregnant _man_ is not natural, Sam."

    "Well, it sure came naturally to _me_ ," he muttered to himself. 

    That didn't help. Al's voice rose again. "Hey, you don't think I'll have to, uh...you know, like you did?" His eyes darted toward Sam's midsection as the memory of that leap came back to haunt him. Al wasn't one to admit he was wrong often, but instantly he was filled with regret for giving Sam such a hard time. 

    "I don't know, Al. Maybe, maybe not. This leap might not have anything to do with the birth."

    "Saaam!" Al was whining again. Sam tightened his grip on his shoulder and tried to be the voice of calm. He wasn't used to being the one taking the lead on leaps. 

    "Let's not worry about what might or might not happen and focus on the facts, okay?" he suggested, assuming getting to action would distract Al. It did. "If you're here, then that means the Project is going to need time to get a lock on us, right?"

    "Right." Al nodded, his stress subsiding as he began to focus on something else. He brightened up considerably as he tapped into some of his memories of the Project. Take _that_ , swiss-cheesing. "Once the person in the Waiting Room helps us narrow down the, uh, when and where, Goosh-I mean Ziggy, pops me into your time. But since no one is tuned in to our brainwaves..." His excitement fizzled out mid-sentence. 

    "...no one can get a lock on us," Sam finished, discouraged.

    Well, things could be going better. The prospect of being cut off from the Project and stuck in the Tanaka's lives didn't appeal to either one of them, but how could they contact the Project from 1986? They were still nearly a decade away from Sam's first leap. 

    "Wait!" Al snapped his fingers, another memory coming back to him. A knowing glint in his eye, he proclaimed happily, "Yes they can! Zig-I mean Gooshie!" He scrunched his face at his continued mix-up, but he kept going, "Gooshie was able to tune into your brainwaves in my absence, Sam! When Leon, uh, Leon whatshisname escaped from the Project. Remember?" Sam wished he did, but he shook his head no. Al rolled his eyes. "Great. Between the two of us, we should have half a brain. Just trust me on this, the Project can contact us. It might not be a perfect reception, but it'll get us where we want to go." 

    His back was really bothering him now, so he moseyed on over to the couch again. As he sat himself down, a reenergized Sam was pacing in thought. "Good! So, like I was saying, that just means it'll take them some time to show up and tell us what happened to get you here. Then we can find out what we need to do to leap." Out of nowhere, he made a 180 and faced Al, his eyes crinkled with a grin. "Aaaal..."

    Al didn't like that look on his friend's face, assuming he was about to be the butt of another joke. "What?" he asked cautiously, his eyes narrowed. 

    "Al!" Sam said his name as if it were an obvious statement, spreading out his arms enthusiastically. "We're on a leap _together_! You're here, and I'm here, and we're on a leap! Don Quixote and Sancho, together at last--righting wrongs in time!"

    As moody and stressed as Al was, Sam's excitement was infectious. He chuckled and let his head fall into his hand. "It's good to see you too, pal."

    The phone rang and Al swiveled his head behind him to the kitchen. "I'll get it," Sam said, already on his way to the phone on the wall. "Tanaka residence." He listened for a moment. "Tomorrow at 9? Uh, yes, we'll be there. Thanks for the reminder. Hey, um, could you refresh my memory on the address please?" Grabbing a pen from a googly-eyed glass owl, along with a piece of stationery, he wrote down the information before hanging up. 

    When he came back in, chewing on the pen and looking over the piece of paper still in his hand, Al fixed him with a questioning look. "And what did you just sign us up for?" 

    Looking up, Sam took the pen out of his mouth and motioned it toward his friend's stomach, an apologetic smile in place. "You have a doctor's appointment." 

    "No, Sam! No, I'm not going!" Al was immediately up in arms, shaking his head adamantly.

    "You have to pretend you're Mrs. Tanaka, Al."

    "That doesn't mean I'm going to get myself checked over by an obstetrician! No way! The appointment's canceled!" Al nodded resolutely, as if by saying it the deed had already been done. Stooping to his knee beside him, Sam fixed him with one of those puppy dog looks he hated.

    "Al, what if we've leaped here because something's wrong with the baby?"

\-------

    "I can't believe you talked me into this, Sam." 

    In a small waiting room in a New York hospital, two irritable and time-lost friends found themselves sitting together waiting for a prenatal visit. On a list of 100 things Sam guessed yesterday that he might be doing today, this wasn't even a passing thought. 

    After an uneasy night of sleep (Sam had insisted on taking the couch and leaving Al the bedroom, considering his state. "And they say chivalry is dead," Al had responded sarcastically.), they came to the conclusion that they should probably know Mrs. Tanaka's first name. Kiyoko, according to her license. Al had raided the closet for something other than sleepwear to put on, and was pleasantly surprised to find a large collection of pants. Comfortable, banded pants, he noted. Sam didn't say this out loud, but he thought her colorful taste in clothing wasn't that far off from Al's usual apparel. Together with her husband's intrinsically 80s wardrobe, the two of them had become a kaleidoscope of questionable taste. After Al had decided on a polka-dotted, teal shirt and purple slacks, the two of them had shared an awkward drive to the doctor's appointment. 

    "I hate hospitals," Al groused, "always have, even before 'Nam."

    "Would you keep it down?" whispered Sam, "You're supposed to be Kiyoko; you didn't go to Vietnam. Here, read a magazine." He handed Al the rolled up magazine he'd been twisting to keep his hands busy, heading to the reception desk to check on when the doctor would be seeing them. Al gave him the stink eye before opening the magazine, only to immediately close it in distaste when he saw some of the pregnancy pictures. Yeesh, was there anything in here that didn't relate to children?

    As if summoned by the thought, a small girl with straw-colored hair, about four, cautiously approached him. "Why are you wearing girl's clothes?" she asked through the finger in her mouth.

    Al did a double take. She could see him as him! For some reason, young children were able to see past the leaping auras to the true person within. And right now, the person within was a startled admiral. 

    "Because she's a woman, Sandy." The reply came from another pregnant woman, who took her daughter's hand out of her mouth. 

    "But that's a boy!"

    "Now don't be rude!" the mother scolded, and she gave Al an apologetic look. "I'm sorry if she's bothering you."

    Al was just relieved to not have to explain himself. He cleared his throat. "It's no problem." 

    "Children are such a handful," the woman said, then set her eyes maternally on Al's stomach, "Is this your first?"

    "Huh?" he said dumbly, before quickly realizing where she was looking. "Oh! Uh...yeah, sure it's my first." His eyes wandered in search of a distraction, but the mother was loathsomely outgoing. 

    "Is it a boy or a girl?"

    "Uh, it's a....we're waiting to be surprised." A pained smile. Normally, Al enjoyed chatting up someone of the female persuasion, but this wasn't the kind of baby talk he had in mind. 

    Sandy's mother looked toward Sam, searching for friendly conversation. "Is he the father?"

    Al's eyes glazed over. "Not by choice." He received a strange look, but they were thankfully interrupted.

    "Kiyoko?" It was the nurse calling him in. Happy for a way out of the conversation, Al abruptly stood up. It was the quickest he'd been able to move since he started this leap.

\-------

    Unfortunately, he was going from an embarrassing situation to an _extremely_ embarrassing situation. And so he sat on the exam table, Sam at his side, awkwardly avoiding eye contact while they waited for the obstetrician to show up.

    "Sam, I'll never forgive you for this." 

    Sam pursed his lips. He was getting tired of Al's attitude already. "Would you rather be doing this with the _real_ Akio?"

    "The real Akio wouldn't force his poor wife to visit some baby catcher against her will."

    "To the real Akio, _you_ would be his wife."

    Sam tapped his foot. Al made a face like he'd just sucked on a lemon.

    "All I can say is thank god it was you, Sam. When you first showed up, I thought I'd have to be faking headaches."

    "Al, you're nine months pregnant."

    "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

    "I mean, not you, Al; _Kiyoko_ is--"

    "What, you think I'm not attractive anymore, is that it?"

    "Al, you're not--"

    "I'll have you know, Sam, women have sex _all_ throughout their pregnancy, and--"

    "Al, would you just calm down?"

    "Tell me to calm down one more time and I'll shove your 'calm' right down your--"

    The door opened and they immediately clammed up and straightened their postures. The doctor was an older woman with round glasses, and either didn't catch the bickering or chose not to comment.

    "Nice to see you both again," she greeted. The two men nodded in response, smiles plastered on their faces. 

    The appointment began and Sam and Al went about the difficult task of attempting to answer health-related questions about a woman they knew next to nothing about. This would've been a swell time for the Project to contact them with information, but since the Project was still AWOL that left them SOL. 

    "How have you been feeling?" asked the doctor as she took Al's blood pressure, "Any headaches? Swelling? Contractions?" 

    "No contractions!" Al yelled, slightly higher in pitch than he'd intended. Sam tried to cover.

    "Uh, she means everything seems to be the same as the last time we were here," he said, trying to sound vague enough to coax some information out of her.

    "Well, your blood pressure is a little higher than normal..." she remarked, and Sam and Al tensed up, "but I don't think it's anything to be too concerned about. I bet you're just anxious to finally see your little one, aren't you?" 

    "Oh, you bet!" There was that fake laugh again. 

    "Well you're at 41 weeks now; the baby's certainly taking its time." The doctor startled him by lifting up his shirt and feeling his stomach. Sam, also caught off guard, pretended his laugh was a cough. Al shot daggers at him, wriggling uncomfortably as the doctor probed him. "If you don't go into labor within the next week, I'd strongly recommend scheduling to be induced."

    "THAT won't be necessary!" Al yelped as she touched a particularly ticklish spot. She grinned. 

    "Well, everything seems to be normal, so we don't have to discuss inducing just yet. I'd like to run some routine tests just to be sure, but otherwise I think your body's doing what it needs to do."

    Al shifted nervously. He hated needles. "Tests? What kind of tests?" 

    His response was a cup.

\-------

    "Well, that was the second most humiliating time I've had to pee in a cup," Al mumbled to the asphalt as he and Sam made their way to the car. Sam raised his eyebrows. He had to know. 

    "The 'second' most humiliating time? What was the first?"

    "Never mind," Al continued, "This little detour got us zippo! We're exactly where we started, dignity notwithstanding." The last part was emphasized with a pointed look. He placed his hands on the roof of the car as Sam searched for the right key. "Any other brilliant ideas, super genius?"

    "So I was wrong, Al," said Sam through gritted teeth, "It's not like we have a lot to work with here."

    "So? Use that _leaper's intuition_ you seem to always have. Or do you only get that when you want to prove me wrong?"

    "Al, don't start--"

    "Dr. Beckett? Admiral Calavicci?"

    "AH!" They screamed in unison. Sam spun around so fast he nearly dropped the keys, finding a welcome, but glitchy, face staring back at him. Gooshie was standing in the parking lot, fading in and out, bearing a look of equal surprise. Apparently he'd been just as rattled by their reaction. 

    "Gooshie!" Sam exclaimed. "Oh boy, it's good to see you!" He made a move to hug him before he remembered he was a hologram, looking slightly embarrassed. 

    "Gooshie? Where?" Al circled around the car next to Sam, suddenly more hopeful.

    "It's a pleasure to see you too, Dr. Beckett," Gooshie cheerfully replied with a voice that sounded tinny and distant. When he heard it, Al jumped and grabbed his chest. 

    "Jeez, Goosh, give me a heart attack, will you? Where the hell are you?" He peered in the direction of Gooshie's voice, but he seemed to look right through him. Sam furrowed his brows as Al massaged his chest.

    "You mean you don't see him?" 

    "No. Do you?" 

    Gooshie quickly jumped in to explain. "Unfortunately, we can only transmit a visual signal to you, Dr. Beckett. We're having some trouble tuning in to Admiral Calavicci's brainwaves. As it is, we're already draining enough power to light Albuquerque just to be able to contact the both of you at the same time."

    "I can tell, you're fading in and out." Sam squinted and tried to focus his eyes on the chief programmer's wavy image.

    "Oh, that's not the power drain. I'm not tuned in to your exact brainwaves. Ziggy always did have trouble tuning anyone to you other than Admiral Calavicci." The handlink squealed in protest and Gooshie startled. "Uh, no offense, Ziggy." 

    Hands clasped behind his back, Al proudly bounced on the balls of his feet. "Well of course she has no problem tuning _my_ brainwaves in; I'm the best damn Observer you've got."

    The handlink plinked and Gooshie read it nervously. "Oh, uh...Ziggy says you're the only designated Observer, so that statement must be correct by default."

    That killed Al's good vibes real quick. "Can it, Zig, or I'll feed your microchips into a blender!" 

    A metallic shriek. "Oh...oh my..." Gooshie's face turned red, apparently reading something he preferred not to repeat. 

    "Children," Sam butted in, arms spread out, "if you're finished, I think we should save Albuquerque some power and get to more pressing matters."

    "Right," Al agreed, although he still had a bone to pick with Ziggy, "Like for instance, how the hell I ended up a leaper?"

    Hesitantly, Gooshie scratched at his mustache. "I'm afraid we haven't the foggiest, Admiral."

    "What do you mean? You don't know? Ziggy records everything at the Project!" Al was discouraged, but angry at the same time. Quietly, he added to himself, "Including some things I'd rather she kept private..."

    "O-of course, Admiral," Gooshie stuttered apologetically, "But even Ziggy doesn't know! It was the strangest thing. You were in the Imaging Chamber--uh, wrapping up Sam's last leap--when all of a sudden...you vanished!"

    "Vanished?" Al squinted one eye. 

    "Into thin air!"

    "Could it have been a lightning strike? Like last time?" Sam suggested. Gooshie shook his head.

    "We ran the readings from the Imaging Chamber against the data from the previous instance when the Admiral leaped, but it doesn't match. There's no evidence of an electric shock, or _any_ outside force that could have caused him to travel through time. It wasn't until two people arrived in the Waiting Room that we were entirely sure that leaping is what had occurred. That’s when Ziggy completely shut down most of the Project! She said there were too many factors she couldn't explain, a-and she had to reduce unnecessary power to analyze scenarios. That's another reason why we took so long to locate you two." Another squeal. He tried to placate the multicolored cubes in his hand. "But, uh, I assure you, everything is functioning as normal again." Looking back up at Sam and Al, he took a deep breath. He wasn't used to long conversation, since most of his time at the Project was spent quietly tangled in wires and circuits. 

    Al wasn't happy, not one bit. He leaned against the car in dismay, trying and failing to pull his last moments at the Project from his memory. Sam decided to keep things moving.

    "Okay," he said, "For whatever reason, Al and I are both here. Does Ziggy know what it is we're supposed to do?"

    "Actually, yes." Gooshie's face lit up at the chance to bring them an actual answer. That is, until he had to actually give it to them. 

    "What is it?"

    "Well," the hologram began, his jitters not being entirely due to the poor reception, "Ziggy says that tomorrow night...Mr. and Mrs. Tanaka both disappear."


	3. Chapter 3

    "They both disappear?" Sam repeated, as a disconcerted Al stepped up beside him. Gooshie nodded somberly and read from the handlink.

    "And a week from now, Akio Tanaka is found floating in the Hudson River with a gunshot wound to the head...dead," he added unnecessarily. 

    Sam went rigid at the news. "He's murdered?"

    "I'm afraid so, Dr. Beckett. It was difficult to determine the time of death since, well..." Gooshie chose to not finish the disturbing thought. "But according to the police report, he was last seen tomorrow night by his co-worker, um..." He brought the handlink closer to see the tiny screen, "Lenny Masterson. He saw him when he left his pharmacy after his shift. Ziggy gives it a 76% probability that Akio is shot sometime tomorrow night."

    Al gave a worried glance in his friend's direction, and Sam's lips formed a thin line as he thought of his bleak future. His brow furrowed, he asked, "And what about Kiyoko?"

    "Yeah, what about Kiyoko?" parroted Al, his own sense of self-preservation kicking in.

    Gooshie shuffled his feet. "Well, erm....she was never found. The police assumed her body must have...floated off to sea." 

    Al gulped at the horrifying prospect, unwanted visions of what could have happened to the remains invading his mind. Rubbing the side of his face, he pondered, "Who would want to murder us--them?"

    "And the baby," Sam added grimly. Heavyhearted at the revelation, Al closed his eyes and lowered his head. 

    Gooshie gave a respectful moment of silence before pressing a couple of blinking green and yellow cubes. "We don't know. No one was ever convicted of the crime, and the investigation was closed in 1988. Regrettably, that's where our information dries up. Ziggy gives it a 94% chance you're here to stop the Tanakas from dying." After that, his image began to fizzle in and out again as the handlink chirped. "Oh, uh...Ziggy says we're draining too much power. I'm going to have to leave now."

    "Have Ziggy run a list of possible suspects," Al commanded the programmer, who was already opening the Imaging Chamber door, "Maybe we can figure out what happened if we can narrow down who the killer is."

    "Understood, Admiral Calavicci. We'll pull up any information we can."

    "Oh, and Gooshie!" Al stopped him, looking in the general direction of the _whoosh_ of the Chamber door. 

    "Yes, Admiral?"

    "Uh..." Al paused for a moment, shifting his eyes with trepidation. He cleared his throat. "Take care of the Tanakas for us, will you?" 

    "Of course." Gooshie dipped his head, despite the fact Al couldn't see him, and exited 1986.

\-------

    The tension in the Tanakas' Buick was palpable. Sam gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes on the road but his mind elsewhere. Al rubbed his hand over his face.

    "And to think, I almost envied you when I was the Observer."

    Sam couldn't help but ask. "You envied me?"

    "Sure," Al admitted, as he shifted to get comfortable, "I mean, traveling through time, reliving history, a sense of adventure...but then I'd remember the constant threat of impending death, and that hologram job seemed pretty cushy." He winced when Sam hit a bump in the road.

    "Sorry," Sam said automatically, then went on, "We just need to be careful until Gooshie gets us more information. We wouldn't leap in here if we couldn't change things." His words were confident, but his knuckles were white.

    "Yeah, well, I'm not so hot on the idea of being on death row," Al said sourly, "and, lucky for me, I get to leap into a woman who could drop a baby at any minute!" He blew out a puff of air and suddenly fanned himself, rolling down the window. "Criminy, it's hot in here..."

    "You shouldn't have to worry about that, Al. Kiyoko disappeared before she went into labor. As long as we stop the Tanakas from getting murdered, we'll leap out before she has the baby."

    Al looked over his shoulder at him "Oh," he relaxed a little and sighed, visibly relieved, "well thank god for small favors..."

    Without warning, Sam hit the steering wheel in frustration. "I just wish that, for once, Ziggy would automatically have the information we needed! Like, for instance, _where_ we get killed before being dumped in the river..."

    Glancing away from the open window to his friend, Al changed tack when he saw just how uneasy Sam really was. "Uh, listen, Sammy, you're gonna be fine. After all, this time you've got a secret weapon you didn't have on previous leaps."

    "Oh yeah?" Sam asked, confused, "What's that?"

    The corner of Al's mouth turned in a mischievous smirk. "Al Calavicci, in the flesh."

    Sam couldn't help but smile, some of the tension draining from his body. "You know, Al, I've been thinking about that. Why you're here, I mean. And I have a theory."

    "You do?" 

    "I was thinking. What if...what if nothing happened? No lightning, no freak accident...What if you leaped here because He," Sam jerked his head toward the ceiling, "wanted you to?"

    With some effort, Al managed to turn himself slightly in his seat to face Sam better, an eyebrow raised skeptically. "What, you mean the Big Guy?"

    "Yeah, whoever is controlling the leaps. Maybe you were put here because He needed _both_ of us to complete this leap."

    "Sam..." Al said dryly, making sure to milk his dramatic pause for all it was worth, "Seven degrees, including Quantum Physics, TIME Magazine called you 'the next Einstein'...and the best you can come up with is _divine intervention_?" 

    "Okay okay, make fun of it all you want," Sam brushed him off, "but I think there's a reason for both of us being here."

    "Maybe," Al said reluctantly, once again leaning back in his seat, "But I say if God, Time, Fate, or Whatever is sending out leapers at random now...he picked the wrong guardian angel." He faced the window again quietly. It was an odd note to end on, and Sam wasn't sure what had happened to shift his mood. Whatever it was, he could sense Al wasn't going to discuss it further, so he allowed him his space. The drive continued in silence.

\-------

    By the time they'd arrived back home, Al was tired again. Being pregnant sure was draining. "I'm bushed, Sam. I think I'm gonna take a nap, if it’s all the same to you."

    "Knock yourself out," Sam said, grinning at the unintentional pun, "I'm just going to grab a quick shower before work."

    Al was incredulous. "You just find out you're going to die, and you're going to work?"

    "Someone has to be the breadwinner around here," Sam answered jokingly, "And anyway, we don't die until tomorrow night, and I'd like to make sure that doesn't happen. I want to do some snooping around at the pharmacy to see what I can find out. When you wake up, see if you can discover anything useful around here, okay?"

    Al nodded affirmatively as he stifled a yawn. "You have fun with that," he said as he started up the steps toward the bedroom. The phone rang. He hadn't gotten very far when Sam called upstairs.

    "Hey, A--Kiyoko, it's for you."

    He heaved a sigh and stepped back down, taking the phone from him. It took Sam a second to detangle himself from the cord before Al could answer. 

    "Hello?"

_"Hi, Kiki, it's Emi!"_

    "Oh, hi there...Emi," Al glanced uncertainly at Sam. Sam shook his head 'I don't know' as he began to undo his checkered tie.

_"I won't hold you up, girl, I was just checking to make sure on the time."_

    Al twisted his mouth in bewilderment. "The time? Uh..." He pivoted toward the clock in the living room. "It's about...10:30."

    A nasally giggle emitted from the phone. _"No, you goof! I mean, what time for the shower. You said 2, right?"_

    Al was even more confused now. Why would she need to schedule a shower? "The shower?" 

_"Are you having a case of pregnancy brain? The baby shower!"_

    Al choked. "Baby shower?!"

\-------

    "That's for your eyebrows, Al."

    "No, it's for your lips," Al argued as he attempted to read the tiny label on the thin, brown pencil pinched between his fingers. He and Sam were crowded together in the small bathroom, a large collection of makeup strewn over the counter. Because Al had commandeered the sole bathroom in the house, Sam found his shower put on hold. "See, girls like to line their lips to make them fuller, really give them that Brooke Shields pout..." To demonstrate, Al puckered his lips at Kiyoko's reflection in the mirror.

    "I know that, Al, but that's an eyebrow pencil," Sam insisted, taking the stick away from him. "Trust me on this one."

    Huffily, Al snatched the pencil back and placed it on the counter. "I know what it is, Sam. Besides, what would you need to draw on your eyebrows for anyway? That'd look stupid."

    "I've put on more makeup than you have; I know what I'm talking about." Giving up on the debate, Sam sat on the counter. "Al, what are we doing?"

    "It's a baby shower, right? So, I don't want to look like a slob." It only took one questioning stare from Sam before Al sighed in resignation. "I'd like to make it out of this leap alive, alright? Everyone has to believe I'm Kiyoko, so if that means putting on makeup, that's what I gotta do. Now," he picked up a couple of lipstick tubes, "What do you figure, the red or the pink?"

    "Go with the pink; the red clashes too much."

    "Ah, okay." Al opened the pink tube and began to apply the lipstick clumsily to Kiyoko's face. How did Sam make it look so easy? Putting makeup on a reflection that doesn't match your own is a lot harder than it looks. Leaning closer with a critical eye, he studied himself uncertainly. "Well...what do you think?"

    Sam _thought_ he looked a bit like a drunken clown. Fuchsia smudged around his lips and hit his mouth crookedly in the corners. But Sam didn't have the heart for the full truth, so he tried to break it to him easily. "I think maybe you should skip the lipstick."

 _Thanks, Sam. The fabled Good Makeup Samaritan._ Al narrowed his eyes and grabbed a tissue, frenziedly scrubbing his lips. Taking pity and feeling he should be more helpful, Sam picked up a small cap of something. "Here, try some colored lip balm. It's less obvious if you don't get it perfect."

    "Ooh, thanks." Gratefully, Al took the lip balm and began to apply it. Not bad. Kiyoko gave a look of approval. Begrudgingly, he had to admit that Sam had a little bit more experience in this area, so he followed his instructions as he plastered his face in various creams and powders. And how in the world was he supposed to do his hair? Did he just have to...fiddle with the aura...? Looking back, he probably should've paid more attention to Sam's leaps of the female persuasion, but as soon as Sam started getting the curlers out, that was his cue to ask Ziggy about something at the Project.

    He would rather be back in boot camp, because this was hard work. 

    Surprisingly, Sam found himself starting to enjoy this exercise, handing Al blush, eyeshadow, and eyeliner to complement his outfit. It was like creating a terrible, terrible work of art. Al did his best to not look like he'd just escaped from the mental asylum, but he was fairly new at this. In the end, they'd managed to make him somewhat presentable, at least if they only looked at Kiyoko. 

    "Gee, thanks, Sam," Al said sincerely, preening in the mirror, "I'm looking pretty good..."

    "Great. Are you done in here?" Sam still wanted to take that shower before he left.

    "Uh, not quite."

    "What? What more could you _possibly_ need to do?"

    Somewhat abashed and more than slightly frustrated at himself, Al jerked his head toward the porcelain throne.

\-------

    Now _this_ was the kind of party Al Calavicci could get used to! Beautiful girls of every size, shape, and color sat around the living room and simpered over him. He never imagined a baby shower could be this titillating. Oho, Sam would be sorry he missed this! Actually, come to think of it...no he wouldn't. Al mentally rolled his eyes. Sam was too much of prude to enjoy things like fun.

    A particularly voluptuous guest leaned forward, giving Al a breathtaking view of her love melons. "Oh I just adore babies," she cooed, her tatas swelling as she took a deep breath. "You're so brave to be bringing life into this world."

    "Huh?" Al was practically drooling, his eyes lost in the chasm between her chest pillows. Another of the girls, dressed in skimpy black lace, cuddled up next to him and gave him a pleasant push, prompting him to say in a low voice, "Oh yes, I just love making babies..." 

    The girls giggled, like the sound of a melodic wind chime. "I think it's time you had your cake..." said the cuddler, sauntering over to the kitchen. She and a couple others returned, wheeling out a gigantic, rose-colored cake covered in sparklers. Al licked his lips. Yumola!

    "Now for the surprise..."

    "Surprise?" questioned a gobsmacked Al. 

    The awe-inspiring cake BURST open and out popped Tina--say, _that_ was her name!--dressed in nothing but whipped cream and a smile!

    "SURPRISE!"

    Suddenly, Al gave a disgusting snort and woke up, finding himself seated on the couch between two more-conservatively dressed and considerably less attractive women. Another woman with large bangs was handing him a book with an orange bow on top. No cake, no tatas, no fun. 

    Damn, he must've nodded off again. He wished he could stay awake, but there were only so many stories about book club and spider veins he could take. If one of these women had dropped any clues about Akio and Kiyoko's killer, Al had missed it in dreamland. To top it all off, when he wasn't being bored to death, he was being annoyed by Kiyoko's friends constantly feeling his stomach without asking permission. Jeez, did pregnant women have signs over their heads that said "touch me, please"? His personal space was seriously being invaded. 

    This was hell. He longed for the tedium of pharmacy work. 

    To his embarrassment, his metaphorical drooling had in reality been actual drooling, and he used his shirt to hurriedly wipe it up. Why did his body have to be so gross?

    Accepting the book, he read the title aloud. "'Your Baby and You: How to Raise the Next Einstein.'"

    "Surprise!" squealed Big Bangs, "I know you've been looking for it."

    "Heh, you're too kind," Al feigned excitement, then said mostly to himself, "Sam might enjoy this one..." 

    "Who?"

    "Uh, no one. Thanks...for the book." He rubbed his eyes and tried to wake himself up to avoid any more slips. 

    Another guest, he'd learned her name was Kim, noticed this and said playfully, "Maybe we're boring you, Kiyoko." They laughed.

    "You guys--girls? Naw!" Al lied.

    "Don't feel too bad, Kiki," said Emi, who was one of the women seated next to him, "I'm the same way. We wouldn't be best friends if we didn't share everything!" She rubbed her equally pregnant belly. Emi was a small woman, stomach notwithstanding, also Japanese, and she wore a pair of denim overalls over a striped shirt. "You know, I had a dream we had our babies on the same day. Wouldn't that be great?"

    Despite her constant reminding of their coinciding pregnancies, Al couldn't help but like her. The only small joy he'd gotten out of this party was when Emi had occasionally told an unexpected dirty joke. She had a crooked nose, as if she'd broken it sometime in her life, and Al felt as if she was probably a lot tougher than her small frame would suggest. Just like him. 

    Kim started yakking on about so-and-so from work and Al found his mind drifting again. If he could have anything right now, it'd be a cigar. Yeah, a long, satisfying drag of a Havana would do wonders for his recently-elevated blood pressure. But _no_ , pregnant women weren't "allowed" to smoke. No smoking, no caffeine, no _eggs_... He couldn't even have a cup of coffee to wake himself up. After a single day, Al had gone from hating being a pregnant woman to loathing it with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.

    What he _really_ wanted was a drink. Not coffee, a real drink. One glass, just enough to soothe his nerves. He wouldn't have any more than that. He was not a heavy drinking man.

    He used to be. Before he met Sam, he was getting blackout drunk nearly every night, drowning out his hardships with a bottle of whatever alcohol he could find. It had cost him financially, personally, and very nearly professionally. Were it not for Sam's last-minute intervention, he'd have been washed out of Project Star Bright and likely ended up a sad, jobless drunk. There were some very rough days, but with Sam's help, he'd managed to sober up and get his life together. He'd be forever in his friend's debt for that. No one had believed in him like Sam did, not even himself.

    Ironically, the last time he'd gotten off-his-ass drunk was because of Sam. In fact, it was the day after the last time he ever saw him at the Project. In a last ditch effort to secure funding for the soon-to-be-kaput Project Quantum Leap, Al had gone to a black tie charity dinner with some government bigwigs. He'd spent the evening laughing, schmoozing, and charming the pants off of the guests, particularly the women, ending up with some promising interest in the Project. Overall, it had been a successful night, he'd thought. Sure, they might've hit a few stumbling blocks, but after clawing their way up again, they'd be back in business. Nothing could keep them down for long. After all, Al was nothing if not the Comeback Kid. Sam had been particularly down in the dumps as funding slowly dwindled down, so he looked forward to bringing him the good news. 

    He'd indulged in a glass of champagne (By now, it had been ten years since he'd dried out, and he could handle the occasional drink.), but that was as far as it went. He was driving, after all. 

    On the way back home, he'd come across a knock-out with light-up shoes and a case of car trouble. There was no way he'd let an opportunity like that pass, so he offered up a ride in his car with the possibility of a ride in his pants. Funnily enough, her name was _also_ Tina. He had a type, so sue him. And since he and the "girlfriend" Tina were currently on an off phase, there was no one to keep his bed warm that night...

    That's when he received the news that changed everything. 

    Gooshie had contacted him to say that Sam was leaping! Al had floored it back to the Project, Other Tina in tow, but he was too late. Sam had stepped into the Accelerator and vanished. 

    Now, back then they had no idea how any of this leaping business worked. The experiment had gone "a little caca," as Al had so eloquently put it. And it took 24 hours before Tom Stratton had appeared in the Waiting Room in Sam's place. So for all anyone knew, for that one agonizing day, the head of the Project had completely disappeared forever. Hell, the Accelerator could've failed and split him into atoms, killing him instantly. The longer it went with no answer as to whether his closest friend was dead or lost forever, Al had decided that maybe another glass of liquor wouldn't be so bad. And then another. But he stopped himself then; he told himself he had to hold it together, because as the Project Director in Sam's absence, he knew he'd need to take charge if--when, they found Sam. 

    After determining that the man in the Waiting Room was _not_ Sam Beckett (and boy, that had been a big one to get used to), they'd ascertained Sam's time and place and Ziggy had managed to lock Al's brainwaves onto him. He couldn't believe it! Not only had Sam managed to _travel through time_ , but he'd exceeded expectations and become part of it! The Project had been created simply to observe, but there Sam was, in 1956, getting ready to fly the X-2! The dream they'd put all of their blood, sweat, and tears into, Sam's impossible dream, had become a reality, and Al was here firsthand to see it with his best friend.

    And then Sam had asked him if he was dead. 

    Al had suffered many cruel lots in life, but losing Sam had been a particularly heartbreaking punch to the gut. Of course, he hadn't _really_ lost him, but Sam had no idea what his own name was, much less what and who was Project Quantum Leap and Al Calavicci. It had taken Al a long time to rebuild what he and Sam had, but at that moment, Sam was a stranger to him. He'd left the Imaging Chamber and gone straight to his on-site quarters to pour himself another drink. That drink multiplied, and he didn't remember much after that. He'd had a hell of a hangover the next time he visited 1956.

    Al was rudely jolted from this memory when he felt a sharp jab to his kidney. "Yeagh!"

    Kim was interrupted mid-boring-story, and Emi put a concerned hand on Al's arm. "Is everything alright?"

    "Yeah," Al breathed as he rubbed his side, "Yeah, I'm fine, I just felt..." He stopped dead, his eyes widening. _He'd felt the baby kick_. Oh god. "Uh..." Jittery now, he struggled out of his seat, looking for a way out. "Listen, I just need, um...a glass of water. Excuse me."

\-------

    Leaning against the kitchen counter, Al took a big gulp of water and tried to calm himself down. He supposed this wasn't unexpected, but still. Feeling the baby kick had made his mortifying situation all the more real. He was bonding more and more with Kiyoko, which meant he was gaining more and more of her symptoms, and he didn't like the feeling of being out of control. 

    If there was one person other than Sam he knew he could rely on, it was himself, but now he wasn't so sure. So far he'd done nothing but humiliate himself on this leap, and with nothing to show for it. Sam was the one taking charge, and he was the one wasting time hiding out in the kitchen. He and Sam were still going to die, and it was going to be his fault...again. 

    To his surprise, he was finding it hard to breathe. A sudden sense of dread had overwhelmed him and made his chest tight. What was the matter with him? Just a short bit ago, he'd been rattled but otherwise fine. He sensed it must've been a residual from Kiyoko, but somehow that didn't make him feel any better.

    Who _was_ Kiyoko anyway? Well, y'know. Al had the basics. He knew she was a freelance photographer, because the shower guests had mentioned instances of her shooting at their weddings or relatives' graduations. He knew that she had a small collection of vanilla friends, which made Emi the odd inclusion, but she seemed to be the one who'd known her the longest. But he didn't know who she really was. What were her non-career interests? What was her life like when she wasn't being unwittingly thrown into a time travel experiment? Her world couldn't have always been centered around a baby, and when he thought of it, he felt this overwhelming fear, not entirely his own, grasping at his insides. Something was amiss with his host, of that much he was positive. 

    A few more mouthfuls of water and he was able to get his breathing under control. As he refilled the glass, the door opened and Emi quietly slipped inside. "You look like hell. You sure everything's okay?"

    Al swallowed and nodded. "Yeah...I, uh, just needed to get away for a bit." 

    Emi didn't seem convinced. She made her way over and put a motherly hand on his shoulder. "Are you positive? You aren't going into labor, are you?"

    Al choked and dribbled water over the front of Kiyoko's shirt, which only made Emi's worry grow. "Don't say that! God…" he managed to croak, soothing his aching throat with another drink.

    "Have a cow, will you?" Emi retorted, smacking him playfully now that she was more certain he wasn't in need of medical attention. "I'm just being the worried best friend, that's all. Remember, you're calling me the minute you start having contractions. I want to be there for you through the _whole_ thing."

    _Sure thing, Emi. But I'm not going to stick around to keep that promise._ Suddenly, Al was struck with an idea. He decided to finally make some use of himself and try to dig some information out of her. It was time to use one of his arguably most valuable assets (second only to his, ahem, _other_ valuable asset): his mouth.

    "Well, now that you mention it, Emi..." He needed to be smooth about this. He wasn't used to manipulating information out of a woman without being able to use his Calavicci charms on her, so he decided to try another angle. "You'd tell me if I was crazy, right? Seeing as how you're my best friend."

    "Of course! Why would you even need to ask?" Emi almost looked offended. 

    "See, I've been feeling very...paranoid lately."

    "Paranoid? Like something's wrong with the baby?

    Al shook his head and tried his best to look vulnerable. "No, nothing like that." He remembered Emi's comment earlier about her dream, hoping she was the superstitious type. "Well, see...I, uh, I had a dream the other night...that something bad might happen to me and Akio." 

    Emi gasped and Al covered a self-satisfied grin with another drink of water. He had her pegged, alright. 

    "Something bad?"

    "Yes, like someone might try to hurt us, or..." Al let it hang for extra melodrama. "You haven't noticed anyone acting...suspiciously, have you?"

    "Like who?"

    "You know, anyone who might want to harm us."

    To his dismay, Emi smiled and put her arm around him in a girlfriend side hug. "Honey, you're not crazy. You're just nervous because of the baby. And anyone would be in your same position." 

    For the love of...was he going to be _completely_ useless this entire leap? The way people were acting, he was completely neurotic instead of pregnant. 

    "...especially considering the father," Emi finished. That got Al's attention. "I know it nearly broke Akio's heart, but he's going to take care of you."

    That was odd. Was Akio not the father? Was Kiyoko sleeping around? 

    Maybe, thought Al, he was getting somewhere after all. 

\-------

    Sam was getting nowhere. With a _shoomp_ , he shut his till in frustration. Lenny had gone outside to take out the trash, so he was left alone to mull things over. Outside of a particularly grumpy customer who was looking for a specific cold medicine, he couldn't find anyone who seemed to even dislike his host, much less want to kill him and his wife. Akio was a pillar of society, popular (disgruntled customer aside), and an outstanding baker, it turned out. Mr. Green had been very thankful for the cookies Akio had made for his wife's birthday. But Sam wasn't any closer to finding out how Akio and Kiyoko met their untimely demises. He'd even checked Akio's bookkeeping to make sure there wasn't anything off with the numbers, but the records were clean and precise. 

    He had started this leap thankful his host was such a swell guy, but now, if anything, he found he was _too_ perfect. Unless, of course, there was something darker under the surface. But that didn't seem to add up. If he had asked Al, he would say that people aren't often as innocent as they appear, but Sam liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. Akio was a stand-up guy. There was no reason why anyone would want to kill him, or Kiyoko. 

    That's when Sam heard a scream. His head jolted toward the back room, where the noise had carried from. Without a second thought, he raced through the door in the back and into the alley beside the building. 

    A fear-stricken Lenny was backed up against the wall, cornered by a man in a flannel jacket and ski-mask. "Give me the keys, man!" the assailant demanded. 

    "Hey!" Sam yelled angrily. Taken by surprise, the man spun around like a tornado to face him. 

    He had a gun, and now it was pointed straight at Sam's head.


	4. Chapter 4

    Sam had lost count of how many times he'd faced the barrel of a gun, such was his life at this point, but this time gave him extra reason to sweat. He was such an idiot! He knew the last place Akio had been seen was the pharmacy, and he walked right into the lion's den!

    But that was supposed to be tomorrow, wasn't it? That's what led to Ziggy's prediction on his time of death. Of course, he could've changed things simply by leaping in here, and Ziggy had been wrong before. More times than he'd like, actually. Why, oh why, did he listen to her with her track record? Right now, he didn't care how things had gone so sideways. His only hope was to make sure a bullet didn't wind up in his skull. Or Lenny's.

    "O-open the door!" stuttered the man, holding the gun shakily, "I'm not kidding around! Get us inside, and hand over the money and the drugs!" Sam placed his hands in the air as non-threateningly as possible. 

    "Okay, we'll do anything you say," he said, then, slowly lowering one hand, "I'm reaching into my pocket for the keys..."

    "Hurry up!" 

    The mystery man wasn't the only one with trembling hands. But somehow, Sam managed to grab the keys and slowly faced the door. Turning his back on the gun made him uneasy, but he didn't want to risk the man getting impatient and pulling the trigger. Still, the man in the mask appeared just as scared and uncertain as he was. Maybe he could be reasoned with.

    "There's no need to do anything we'll regret," Sam appealed to him as he glanced over his shoulder, "I mean, whatever it is you want...it's not worth throwing your life away. Surely you've got family and friends who wouldn't want you to go down this road."

    "Shut up and open the door already!" The gun started to slip and Sam went stock-still. Oh god, this could be it! That's when he saw Lenny in the corner of his eye, taking advantage of the fumble to try and grab the other man. Alarms immediately went off in Sam's head, and everything seemed to slow down as the robber swung around to face Lenny. 

    "Lenny, no!" The gunman's finger was just starting to squeeze the trigger when Sam, running on pure instinct, managed to place a roundhouse kick squarely to his jaw. The gun went off with a deafening BANG! and struck the wall as the robber flopped to the ground. Amazingly, he was down in one count, out like a light. 

    "Lenny, the gun!" Sam ordered. He didn't want the gunman to wake up and start shooting, and the fallen weapon was closer to the younger man than it was to him. Frantically, Lenny bent down and did what he was told, backing away from the unconscious assailant. 

    _Sorry for doubting you, Ziggy._

    Relieved that they'd managed to thwart the attacker, Sam's concern now was to make sure he hadn't seriously injured the man. He stooped beside him and pulled off his mask, revealing a pudgy face with graying hair and a bulbous nose. As Sam was checking his pulse, the man awoke with a start and automatically threw out a punch, knocking a stunned quantum physicist onto his backside. Before Sam could stop him, he'd already dashed from the alley and out of sight. 

    "Oh my god! Mr. Tanaka, are you okay?" Lenny's voice cracked as he rushed to once again help Sam to his feet. This was becoming a habit.

    "Eugh...Yeah, I'll live," said Sam as he rubbed his tender nose, "Hey Lenny?"

    "Yes, sir?"

    "Call me Akio, okay?"

\-------

    After a lengthy talk with the police over that afternoon's hold-up, Sam arrived back home to be greeted by the smell of tomato sauce wafting through the house. It was a strange juxtaposition to his harrowing brush with death at the pharmacy, that was for sure. Taking in a deep, satisfying breath, he let the intoxicating scent permeate his senses. It wasn't until now that he'd realized just how hungry he was. Curious, he moved toward the kitchen to find Al working at the stove and wearing an apron. When his friend noticed him, he acknowledged him happily with a spoon. 

    "Sam! Good, you're home. Taste this; tell me what you think of this sauce."

    Without waiting for a response, he handed the utensil toward a puzzled Sam. Not sure what to expect, he sampled what was on the spoon and made a noise when the flavor hit his tongue. "It's delicious," he said in awe. Instead of taking the compliment, Al took the spoon back and held it scoldingly toward him.

    "It needs salt," he said pointedly as he went back to the stove, as if this had been a test. "Serves me right for asking a _dilettante_ about Italian cooking..."

    Knowing Al too well to be even the slightest bit surprised at this, Sam ignored him and ventured further into the kitchen. Along with the sauce, Al had out all the makings of a fantastic pasta dinner. He went about his work with the ease that only came from experience and passion, and Sam was happy to finally see his friend in such good spirits. 

    "You're making dinner for us?"

    "Mm-hmm, traditional Abruzzi _maccheroni alla chitarra_ , fixed with a secret Calavicci sauce," he gave a wink as he tasted his concoction again. "Of course, 'traditionally' the pasta would be freshly made, but I only have so much to work with here. I tried to stick to a decent budget at the store for Kiyoko's sake."

    "You can cook?" Sam was genuinely impressed.

    "Are you serious, Sam? You're looking at the winner of St. Jerome's Junior Cook-off, two years running! _Can I cook_." Al gave him the side-eye before he was sent on another train of thought. "You know, once, when I ran away from the orphanage, I tagged along with this famous chef. And he had this sous chef with an _amazing_ set of--"

    "Spare me the details, Al," Sam held up a hand and cut him off, sensing a long story coming. 

    "--cast iron skillets," Al finished with a smart-aleck grin, "Oh, uh, it's just about ready. Grab some silverware, will you?"

    As Sam began to dig out knives and forks, he was curious. "What's got you in such a good mood anyway? I would've thought you'd be miserable after the baby shower."

    "It was absolute _torture_ , Sam. But, I think I might have a clue as to what happened with the Tanakas."

    "Really? That's great news!" Sam's face lit up, and Al looked proud of himself as he set the plates out on the small table in the kitchen. As he started to grab the pasta, Sam jumped in to help. 

    "Watch it, Sam, it's hot."

    "So what is it? What'd you find out?"

    Al looked up dumbly as he sucked some red stuff off of his finger. "Huh?"

    "The clue?" Sam rolled his hand as a gesture to keep going. 

    "Oh, the clue! Well, Sam, you're not gonna like this, but...I don't think you're the father of Kiyoko's baby."

    Sam's face tightened in exasperation. "Of course I'm not, Al."

    "No no, not you, you! Akio, you!" Al clarified (in a way), "I think...I think Kiyoko was doing the horizontal mambo with some other guy."

    "What do you mean?" This wasn't what Sam was expecting to hear. By all accounts, the Tanakas seemed to have the perfect life (upcoming murder aside). Why would Kiyoko cheat?

    "Well," Al began to divulge, "when I was at the baby shower today, Emi told me Akio wasn't the father of my--Kiyoko's baby." He pinched the bridge of his nose at yet another leapee/leaper switch-up, then went on. "More or less. She said it broke Akio's heart."

     "That doesn't seem like her." A befuddled Sam put a forkful of pasta in his mouth.

    "Sam, we don't _really_ know either of these people. How's the pasta?"

    "What? Oh, it's good," answered Sam absentmindedly, to Al's slight annoyance, "So what's your point? You think this had something to do with the murders?"

    "I do indeed. Picture this," Al made an expansive gesture, as if to paint the story before him, "Akio finds out his wife is doing the bingo bango bongo with someone else. This cheeses him off, and he takes Kiyoko to the Hudson and offs her. Once he's done with his wife, he shoots _himself_ and falls into the river." 

    "What? No!" Sam responded strongly, "No, I refuse to believe Akio would do that. Besides, why would he wait nine months to do it?" 

    A shrug. "Maybe he just recently found out. Maybe he stewed on it. Who knows?"

    "No," Sam shook his head, unwavering, "That doesn't make any sense! If Akio is the killer, why would I leap into him? That wouldn't solve anything, and _I'm_ not going to kill anyone."

    "That's a good point..." Al said thoughtfully, stroking his chin. Then he snapped his fingers. "What about Kiyoko then? Akio goes into a, uh, a jealous rage, Kiyoko kills him in self-defense. Distraught over accidentally killing her husband, she throws him into the river and kills herself."

    "Same thing, Al. _You're_ Kiyoko, and you wouldn't leap in if she were the killer."

    "Not if it was self-defense," he argued, "Because if I'm here, it doesn't happen. Therefore, the leap is solved by default!"

    "But what's to stop Akio from going into a jealous rage again when he returns?" Sam raised his eyebrows inquisitively. 

    "I don't know, Sam, but I think I'm on the right track here!"

    Sam noticed that Al was slightly miffed, twirling his fork in his pasta, and he sensed something else was going on. "Why are you so insistent on this?"

    "I, uh...I have a feeling, that's all." Al was getting evasive again.

    "What do you mean, a feeling?" 

    "Y'know, a, uh..." Al trailed off when he saw Sam's look. Then, rapidly, "Oh hell. Don't make a big deal about it, but I started feeling the baby kick today. And I don't know what it is, but I just get this vibe from Kiyoko about the baby...like she's scared. So I think whatever happened, the kid has something to do with it."

    Sam took a moment to absorb the information and turn things over in his head. Understandingly, he said, "Okay, Al. If you think you're right, we'll keep the option open. But, and please don't take this the wrong way...is it possible you're just feeling normal anxiety about the pregnancy?" 

    Initially, Al had the urge to feel offended again, but he had to admit to himself that he honestly wasn't sure. Between Kiyoko's feelings, his own feelings, and pregnancy hormones, he couldn't be entirely certain what was going on in his head was genuine. It made him feel like he was crazy.

    "I dunno...maybe," he confessed. 

    "Who's the father?"

    "What?"

    "If Kiyoko slept with someone else," said Sam, "who's the biological father?" 

    Al pressed a couple of fingers to his mouth distractedly. "I don't know."

    "Al!"

    "What? Emi didn't say! What am I supposed to do, ask if she knows who the father of _my_ baby is? Kiyoko should already know that. Unless, of course, she did the dipsy doodle with too many men to know for sure..."

    "Al!" Sam shouted even louder. 

    "It could happen, Sam! Not everyone can be a perfect choir boy like you, you know." With a smug grin, Al took a big bite of pasta. This earned him a look of indignation, but Sam chose to not indulge him any further. 

    "Maybe the biological father has something to do with the Tanaka's disappearance," he mused, "Maybe he loved Kiyoko, but she didn't return the same feelings...and he killed them."

    "Yeah...Or!" Al was excited at the prospect of unraveling this like a detective, and he leaned in conspiratorially, "Kiyoko was in on it. She and the new boyfriend get rid of Akio, and they disappear under a new identity."

    "Could be." With nothing to argue against that possibility, Sam left it at that, but he didn't agree. Something didn't seem to fit. Al was right; they didn't really know Akio or Kiyoko, but something in Sam's gut told him they weren't capable of such malice. Perhaps it was his "leaper's intuition" that Al always seemed so vexed by, until it inevitably ended up saving a life. Maybe it was in part because Sam almost always felt some sort of connection or loyalty to the person he'd leaped into, a sentiment which apparently Al didn't share. 

    Before Sam could really gather his thoughts, he noticed Al looking ashen and staring at the plate in front of him. "Al, are you okay?"

    "Uh..." Al held his stomach with one hand, placing his other to his mouth. "I don't think dinner is sitting so well with me..." Ash turned to green and he abruptly got to his feet, bolting out of the kitchen.

\-------

    Sam waited until the sounds of vomiting stopped before knocking softly on the bathroom door. A groan. That response would have to do. Creaking the door open slightly, he peeked his head inside. His friend was seated on the floor next to the toilet, looking about as miserable as he'd sounded. 

    "Hey, how're you feeling?"

    "How do you _think_ I'm feeling?" Al asked hotly. He stared at his hands. Then suddenly, he burst out, "This sucks, Sam! It really _sucks_!" Blinking furiously, he stopped for a moment and ran his fingers through his hair. "I have no control over my body! I mean, one minute I'm starving, the next I'm nauseous. I'm bloated, I feel like I weigh 300 pounds, my feet hurt, my back hurts, my insides are being used as a punching bag, my emotions are on a constant rollercoaster, and I'm gassy! Like, all the time! Just a constant backdoor breeze!" He smacked his hand over his eyes. "And I have to pee again!"

    "Oh, uh--" Sam hurriedly started to close the door. 

    "No, Sam, don't bother," sighed Al dejectedly, "I don't want to get up anyway."

    The toilet was right there, but Sam didn't point that out. Al was a wreck, and Sam felt a pang of sympathy shoot through him. He knew exactly how he felt, and it hadn't been a picnic for him either. He remembered the constant discomfort, pain, and mood swings that came with being pregnant, something he'd never care to revisit, but he'd take on some of it for Al if he could. As it was, he could only offer him his support. So he sat down on the floor across from his friend, legs crossed, and gave a silent expression of solidarity. Al let his hands hang limp in his lap.

    "What's happening to me, Sam?" he asked quietly, "I mean, morning sickness occurs during the first trimester, so why am I getting it from Kiyoko?"

    "Well, after I leaped into Billy Jean, I came up with a theory..." recalled Sam. Al waited expectantly as the scientist pulled at his chin and tried to form a simplistic summation. "Kiyoko is nine months pregnant, right?"

    "Uh-huh."

    "But you aren't."

    A little bit of Al's fire returned as he drawled, "Give him another PhD, ladies and gentlemen."

    "No no, listen," Sam continued, unperturbed, "I bonded with Billy Jean in case she delivered before I completed the leap, so the baby wouldn't be born in the future. The same thing's happening to you. And because Kiyoko is at full term, and you...aren't, your body has to work to catch up."

    "Meaning...?" Al was feeling too under the weather for this.

    "Meaning, you're going through the whole process."

    There was a pause as the information sunk in, and Al took a deep breath. Finally, carefully, evenly, he asked, "Sam, are you trying to tell me I'm experiencing the _entire_ nine month pregnancy in a few days?"

    "Essentially, yes."

    "Essentially, I'm going to kick your ass! C'mere!" With all of the grace of an over-encumbered donkey, Al reached pathetically for a surprised Sam, who easily dodged out of the way. 

    "What're you talking about? What'd _I_ do?" Sam questioned, perplexed, as he got to his feet. Grabbing the sink awkwardly, Al began the long ordeal of getting up. For Sam's part, he was torn between helping his friend up or getting the hell out of the way.

    "You gave me the leaping curse, that's what!" he yelled, "You, you with your stupid Shirley Temple attitude, you had to go screwing around with time, and now you've spread your leaping voodoo to me! I was _fine_ being an Observer, but now, now I get to be the hilarious preggo and you're just yukking it up over there! Well ha ha, Sam, HA HA! We'll see who has the last laugh when you're face-planting into the floor, you nozzle!" By now he was on his feet, huffing and puffing. 

    Disconcerted over Al's sudden meltdown and worried about how hard he was breathing, Sam tried to diffuse the situation. "Al, calm down. You want to go into labor?"

    "Of course I don't! Don't tell me what to do!" 

    "Look, Al, I'm sorry. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be here. I don't...I don't want you to die." Sam was suddenly very somber. As ridiculous as Al's rant was, at least part of it did ring true to him. He felt terrible for getting his friend involved. 

    Recognizing Sam's seriousness and starting to feel ashamed at his explosion, Al's anger melted away. After regaining control of his breath, he said softly, "I don't want you to die either, Sam." His eyes flickered up with remorse. "I'm...I'm sorry I called you a nozzle."

    The apology wasn't necessary, but Sam accepted it anyway for Al's sake. "It's okay," he said with a small smile. 

    Someone cleared their throat, and it wasn't Sam or Al. A semi-translucent Gooshie was just outside the door, leaning to the side uncertainly. "Should I come back later?"

    "Gooshie?" Al asked the air.

    "No, please stay," Sam answered the programmer's question, exiting the bathroom with Al tailing him, "Did Ziggy come up with anything?"

    "As a matter of fact, she did," said Gooshie as he fidgeted with the handlink, attempting to be professional but barely masking his nerves. Whether it was from anxiety or a general lack of social skills, neither Sam nor Al knew.

    "Did she get that list of suspects?" Al asked, suddenly the professional Gooshie wished he was. If he hadn't just been privy to Al's breakdown in the bathroom, that is. 

    "Welllll..."

    "Gooshie!" Sam and Al shouted together.

    "You both have to understand!" pleaded the programmer, "Ziggy is being very temperamental about this! Admiral Calavicci being here has got her really upset, and we're barely able to coax her into letting me use the Imaging Chamber. Basically...she's being a real _bitch_." The handlink shrieked and Gooshie knew he'd made a mistake. "Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! But you're being very unreasonable!"

    "So Ziggy has her gears in a twist, _un_ twist 'em, Gooshie!" barked Al, "For god's sake, you're the programmer!"

    "It's not that easy, Admiral!" _Scr-eeeee!_ "Ziggy, I said I was sorry!"

    "You tell Ziggy if she doesn't cooperate, I'll be there in 14 years to kick her processors to the curb!"

    Sam was beginning to feel like a mother separating her quarreling kids again. That is, if her children were a temperamental Italian admiral, a nerve-wracked programmer with halitosis, and an egotistical parallel hybrid computer. "Everyone! Can we focus, please?" he begged, "Gooshie, you said you had something."

    The handlink chirped and Gooshie nodded affirmatively. "Well, Dr. Beckett, you've changed history. Now, Akio and Kiyoko are _both_ found in the Hudson...tied together and shot in the heads."

    "What?" Sam frowned. "Why did _that_ change?"

    "Yeah, all we did was go to work and have a baby shower," remarked a puzzled Al.

    "Oh!" Sam gasped. He'd been so preoccupied with everything that had happened since he'd gotten home, he'd forgotten to mention his near-death experience in the alley.

    "Oh? What 'oh'? What happened?" demanded Al.

    "Actually, I didn't just go to work," Sam admitted, "Near the end of my shift...a robber showed up with a gun."

    "Sam! Why didn't you tell me?!" Al couldn't decide if he was upset or angry. It seemed like he'd been feeling that way a lot lately.

    "I'm sorry, Al. I meant to say something, but I got a little distracted." Distracted by Al. Although there was no blame in Sam's words, Al scratched his temple and quieted down, feeling very selfish. "I managed to get the gun away from him and he took off."

    Already up to speed thanks to the police report, Gooshie continued, "That's right, but in the original history, the robber dropped the gun and got scared away."

    "And no one was hurt?" Sam's jaw dropped. Gooshie's head bobbed affirmatively, and Sam did a furious spin. "I can't believe it! You mean to tell me I risked my life today for nothing?"

    "I wouldn't say that, Dr. Beckett," argued Gooshie, "Because by confronting the gunman, you changed history, so Ziggy gives it a 67% probability that the robber is involved in the Tanaka's deaths."

    "Hey, that's right, Sam!" Al chimed in, "He _has_ to be the killer! But wait, why is the percentage so low?" He looked toward the sound of Gooshie's voice. It was strange having a conversation with someone he couldn't see, but then again, it was strange to have a conversation with a hologram any way you sliced it. 

    "Ziggy says that while it's _likely_ the shooter is involved, the change is so small that she isn't sure."

    "She's right, Al," Sam jumped in, "Sometimes I change things just by leaping in. And between the two of us, everything can't have gone exactly like it did in the original history." 

    Al paused for thought. "Think about this as a possibility. In each history, the robber ends up hightailing it out of there with nothing. Well, robbers are stupid. So, he comes back to the scene of the crime the next night to finish what he started. Things go wrong, and Akio ends up with a bullet in his brain." A finger gun to the temple finished off Al's hypothetical scenario. 

    "But why did Kiyoko get killed too?"

    "Maybe she was at the pharmacy with him," Al guessed. 

    Chewing his bottom lip as he thought it over, Sam returned his attention to Gooshie. "Gooshie, what does Ziggy say the probability is that Akio and Kiyoko were killed in a robbery?"

    Gooshie plonked on the vibrant block in his hand as his image flickered and skipped. Surprisingly, he rolled his eyes at the response; even _his_ patience was wearing thin. "Ziggy says she doesn't know. She says there are too many unknown variables. There are no records of anything being stolen, however.” 

     “But if it went wrong, he could’ve taken off without anything.” 

     Sam pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Al jumped in, "Okay, Gooshie, try this: ask Ziggy what the odds are of Sam and I surviving if he just closes the pharmacy for the day?"

     "Al!" Sam said sternly, "There are people who are depending on Akio for their medication. Someone could get hurt!"

     "Ziggy says the odds of the Tanaka's survival go up," Gooshie read from the handlink, "but a customer, Mrs..." He held the handlink closer. "...Aggie Cranshaw, she doesn't get her husband's heart medication in time...and he passes away." Sam had to strain his eyes to see Gooshie. His image was beginning to fade in and out with more frequency. "Er...I'm afraid we're draining too much power again."

     "Don't you dare leave, Gooshie!" ordered Al, "You tell Ziggy to keep you here, or I'll take her apart with a hammer when I get back!" 

     "I'm sorry, Admiral, I...atte...ng...backup..." Gooshie's image stuttered, faded, and completely disappeared. Al listened intently.  

     "Gooshie?" he demanded more than asked.

     "He's gone, Al. We're on our own." Furious, Al swore in more than one language, but Sam was elsewhere, his chest aching at the thought of causing someone's death. It wasn't a possibility he would ever chance. "There's no way I'm closing the pharmacy, not if someone gets killed. Al, we can't--"

     "Okay, okay, okay," Al cut him off, trying to take control again, "We don't close up shop. How about this, Sam: call the police. Tell them you've got reason to suspect the pharmacy will get held up again, and ask them if a squad car can stay in the neighborhood. The thief sees the squad car, and his plan is foiled. Bada bing, bada boom!" He dusted his hands together with self-assurance. "See? We don't need _garbage-breath_ and the _queen motherboard_ after all."

    It just might work, Sam had to admit. Al would say of course it would work, it was _his_ plan. But, still, something niggled at Sam's brain. "Okay. But what if we're wrong? What if this has nothing to do with the robbery?"

     "Uh..." Al wiped his nose. "Well, we know your coworker, whassisname--"

     "Lenny."

     "Right, Lenny, he was the last one to see you alive. So, you stick with him. Killers generally don't attack if they know there'll be witnesses."

     "But what about you, Al?"

     "I'll stick with you too."

     "No, not if we're right about the robbery!" Sam shouted, "I don't want to risk you getting shot if you stay there."

     At this, Al laughed, although it was more of a ' _chuh!_ ' noise. "If you think I'm leaving you alone to get killed, buddy boy, then you've got another think comin'."

     "Al, it's not just _your_ life you're responsible for." Sam's mouth was a hard line. He was right, although Al hated to concede to that. If Al died, Kiyoko died, and if Kiyoko died, so did the baby. 

     If survival were an Olympic sport, Al would have a gold medal. Several, in fact. He'd lived through horrors most people could only find in their nightmares, if they were very unlucky. But when he signed up for his tours of Vietnam, he and all of the men knew the risks involved. In war time, you took it for granted that you might not see any of your buddies ever again. And yet Al had gone time and time again into near-certain death for them, because he knew they would do the same. 

     But this was not war, and Kiyoko and her unborn child had not signed on for an early death sentence. Al had to be careful not for his own sake, but for theirs. And even since the beginning of this leap, he'd made up his mind he wasn't going to be responsible for losing someone again. So he relented. "Okay, Sam. I won't go to the pharmacy." 

     "Go somewhere with a friend, someplace crowded."

     "I can do that."

     "Good." This plan was easier for Sam to take, although he was far from confident. With the Project's line cut for now, they didn't have any other choice.

     "It's a deal. We start tomorrow at 0800."

\-------

    Most of this leap felt like it had been spent waiting around to react to something, so Sam was grateful to finally have a plan set in motion. However, that didn't make him any more at ease when thinking about tomorrow night. As he lay on the couch attempting to fall asleep, he hoped fleetingly that Gooshie would show up to confirm if their plan would succeed or not. Although with Ziggy's lack of information this leap and the Project's unstable connection, Gooshie might not be any help at all. 

    He wondered if he was right about why Al was here, if God, Time, Fate, or Whatever had sent his friend back to help him succeed. And if so, did that mean Al would leap back to the Project once time was corrected? Selfishly, Sam wished he would leap with him, and he would have his closest friend by his side from now on. Time travel was a lonely business, and Sam was tired of feeling like he only had himself to rely on.

    His cheeks flushed with shame at the thought. He _didn't_ only have himself to rely on. Al had been there throughout every leap, sacrificing his own life in the process to be at Sam's every beck and call. He had been the one stable thing in Sam's chaotic, time-scrambled life, and he deserved to go back home. Sam wanted that for him, more than anything. 

    _Flush._

    He smirked as he heard the padding of feet, peering over the couch at Al quietly sneaking by. He couldn't help himself. "Did you fall in?" he teased. 

    "Stick to being the straight man, Sammy, and leave the jokes to me," Al said sleepily, circling the couch. "Can't sleep either, huh?" Sam didn't answer, instead sitting up and motioning toward the recliner for Al to sit down. He did just that. "I'm not even tired," he said through a yawn, "Thinkin' about tomorrow?"

    "Yeah, among other things," Sam replied, hugging his knees as his mind drifted. He looked toward Al, who pulled a small blanket over himself. "Do you have children, Al? Back at the Project, I mean."

    "Me? Oh no no no no," he said quietly and shook his head. Then he screwed up his face in second thought. "At least...I don't _think_ I do. If I do have children, they're going to be very cross with me when I get back."

    "Did you ever want them?" Sam inquired curiously.

    "You kidding? I don't know what to do with kids, Sam."

    "Sure you do. I've seen you with children on leaps before. You're great with kids!"

    "It's different when it's someone _else's_ kid," Al deflected, picking at a tiny fleck of something on his blanket, "When it's your _own_ kid, I mean...that's a big honkin' deal." It was a scary thought, and Al wasn't sure if he was ready for that kind of responsibility. And he sure wasn't getting any younger, so...maybe it just wasn't in the cards for him. Besides, he could hardly afford alimony, much less paying for a child. 

    "Beth wanted kids,” he continued, “but you travel a lot in the Navy, and I just didn't think that would be fair. Because..." Al rubbed at his ear. "Well, when my father was alive, we always traveled, and it was hard on us, and I remember wishing me and Trudy could've stayed in one place. Someplace that was ours. And when we got that small house, that's what it was. Something that was ours. That was the happiest I ever remembered being as a child, before..." Before his father died, he went back to that orphanage, and Trudy went to the institution she died in. He wasn't sure if Sam remembered any of this, but he wasn't going to remind him. "A child deserves a good home with a mother and a father who love them...and that's, uh, and that's what I'd want to give my own kids. If I had any, that is." All of this personal talk was making him feel uncomfortable, and he pretended to cough. 

    Al might've told Sam stories that made his hair curl, and he was lecherous, and smoked awful cigars, and told crass jokes, but when it came to children, he was a huge softy. Sam remembered how attached he'd become to Teresa Bruckner, and how sorry he was for Sam to finish that leap. He knew how fatherly Al could be. "I think you'd be a great dad, Al."

    "That's nice of you to say, Sam." Al gave a small, self-deprecating grin. 

    After that, Sam looked toward the wall, lost in thought, almost afraid to ask his next question. "Do _I_ have kids, Al?"

    "I don't know.”

    "Al!"

    "Scout's honor, Sam!" Al insisted, "Honest to goodness, I really don't remember. And even if I did..." He trailed off sadly. 

    "You can't tell me what I don't remember on my own," Sam finished, irritated now, "Yeah, yeah, I know the drill." He slumped into the couch. He wasn't sure what answer he was hoping for. Truthfully, any clear response would've terrified him. And he knew Al was just following the rules he himself had set up, so his annoyance didn't last long, instead replaced by a wistful sadness. "I guess it's better I don't remember. Even if I _did_ have a son or a daughter, I wouldn't know them." He knitted his eyebrows, trying to fix a blank face in his mind, muddled and far away. "I wouldn't remember when they were born, their first word, their first steps...their smile." He blinked away the moisture forming in his eyes and inhaled deeply. "I've been gone for so long...I wouldn't get to see them growing up." It hadn't struck him until now just how much he wanted a family, and he found himself missing them, real or imagined. A profound sense of loss hung heavy in his heart. 

    "We'll get you back Sam," Al's voice cracked, "I promise. We'll get you back." To Sam's surprise, there were tears in his friend's eyes too, although he tried to look away from Sam in order to hide them. Al wasn't one to cry easily or willingly. 

    "Al, are you...crying over me?" 

    Sam was as bemused as he was touched. His question was answered with a small couch cushion flying in his direction. 

    "Lay offa me, I'm magnafoozled," Al sniffled as he wiped his eyes. Damn pregnancy hormones! "You know, I think I am tired. I'll see you tomorrow, Sam." Without waiting for a response, he got up and plodded toward the stairs. 

    "Hey Al." 

    "Yeah?"

    "Thanks." He smiled one of his humble Beckett smiles, and Al nodded. Without another word, Al made his exit. 

\-------

    One night's rest and a call to the police later, Sam had once again left for a day of work at Akio's pharmacy. He and Al were both uneasy being separated when their fates were so zigzagged, but Sam felt good knowing that Mr. Cranshaw would receive his medication and live to see another day. After all, he couldn't have leaped in the save the Tanakas, only to kill someone else in their place. And so he went to work, even if that meant he was going straight into danger.

    That was so very Sam, Al thought. 

    He was convinced now that the original history had played out with the Tanakas being murdered in a botched robbery, which meant Sam was out there alone while he was left playing housewife again. If it weren't for Kiyoko or her baby, Al would be there with him, no matter how much Sam protested. He owed him that much. God, what if Sam got killed?

    He couldn't dare to think about that. The police had sent a patrol car to scope the area, so the likelihood of the pharmacy being hit again was pretty low. So begrudgingly, he had kept good on his word and called up Emi to spend the afternoon together. What did girls do for fun anyway? He knew what _he'd_ like to do with a girl...not that he could act on that. How did that work, anyway, if his aura was a woman? It boggled the mind. 

    Much to his relief, Emi had suggested they go out for pizza, and Al at least knew how to do that. And honestly, he felt bad for not giving her enough credit. She didn't want to shop or do their hair or nails or any kind of horrifying thing Al was imagining; she was happy enough to just shoot the shit for a while and have a good time. And she was _fun_. She was excitedly telling him about the latest Yankees play off, and Al had to remind himself at least a couple of times not to jump in with information about games that hadn't occurred yet. 

    "Ooh, ten o'clock, ten o'clock!" Emi garbled through a mouthful of pizza. She and Al were seated in an outdoor patio outside a local pizza shop, watching the crowd of people who passed by on the street; Addicted to Love was playing through the speakers. Scanning the direction Emi was pointing, Al zeroed in on a couple in power suits. Emi was drooling over the man, a real Superman-type with a chin cleft. "Oh, what I wouldn't do to get between the sheets with a specimen like that..." 

    "Yeah..." Al was eyeing the leggy woman, a shapely blonde with curves in all the right places. There were many things he missed about home, and number one on that list was the monster mash. The blonde's hips swung as she walked by and he tilted his head longingly. "Bingo..."

    "...bango bongo," Emi finished, head resting on her hands. Al's heart fluttered. He wanted to marry this woman. She took a bite of a breadstick and moaned in satisfaction. "Kiki, do you remember Dean from college?"

    "How could I forget?" Al asked, knowing absolutely nothing about Dean.

    "We put the itching powder in his boxers? He was scratching all day! Served him right for cheating on Nancy. I'll bet he and his goods got _real_ acquainted...even after the itching powder wore off." Emi leaned in with a devilish look and Al joined in her laughter. If he'd known her in a different time and place, he felt like he could be friends with her, and for a brief moment, he actually forgot his worries about this leap. 

    Then someone caught his eye and he went stiff.

    A man was standing nearby, watching them. He was tall and thin, with gaunt cheeks and graying hair falling over his face and just beneath his ears. Al knew him, he knew every detail, knew the small, evil smile placed on his lips. 

    He knew his hands. Long, spindly fingers grabbing him tightly, wandering uninvited over his body. Al wanted to move, but the man had overpowered him, pinning him to the ground. He was so strong. Al's entire body was trembling, but he couldn't find his voice to cry out. Oh god, he was afraid. He was afraid of dying, and he'd never been more certain that he would. _Please, someone, anyone, help me!_   

    The man leaned in close, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, and whispered softly into his ear, "Just relax, darlin'...it'll be over before you know it." One of those awful, bony hands reached down to slowly lift up his victim's dress. His lips pulled back over yellow, stained teeth, a mouth ready to unhinge and swallow her whole. He thrust forward, a painful, awful invasion, and his victim inhaled sharply. 

    _Clang!_

    Al's shaking hands had knocked over a container of parmesan, startling him back to the patio. He was having trouble breathing again; his chest felt tight and oppressive, another anxiety attack bleeding through from Kiyoko... _Oh, Kiyoko. I'm so sorry._  

    Emi's smile immediately wiped off of her face. "Kiki? What's wrong? Are you going into labor?" She placed her hand over his tremulous one. Al shook his head, daring to look at the terrible man again...but he was gone. "Kiki?"

    Al realized he'd been silent for too long, barely catching his breath. He stood up. "I-I'm okay," he managed to say, "I need to go to the bathroom. Excuse me." With that, he headed into the pizza shop and left Emi by herself. 

    Once he'd shut himself in the stall, he closed his eyes and leaned against it, feeling utterly helpless and afraid.

\-------

    Well, that had been it. No robbery, no bullet. But Sam hadn't leaped yet, which meant either they'd been wrong about the robbery, or there was something else left to do. Seeing as how he'd "saved" Lenny's life, his intern had been happy to give Akio a ride to and from work when his car had broken down. It hadn't been a very hard lie to sell, since the car barely worked on a good day. Everything at the pharmacy had gone off without a hitch, and Sam said goodbye to Lenny before anxiously entering the house.

    He found Al in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and lost in thought.

    "Al, where's Emi?" he asked with slight agitation, "You were supposed to stay with her until I got back!"

    "She just left a little bit ago."

    Now Sam was beside himself. "We agreed on this! How long were you alone here? What if something had happened?"

    "It didn't."

    "Al, we didn't leap! Which means we might still get killed!"

    "I know, Sam," Al said softly. 

    "This leap is driving me crazy!" Sam was pacing the room now, too stuck in his own head to notice Al's unusually quiet demeanor. "I'm spending all of my time working, and nothing is getting done!"

    "Sam."

    "The Project can't keep a steady connection with us, Ziggy's of no help at all, and we're sitting around waiting to get shot!"

    "Sam--"

    "And you!" He paused mid-stride to give his friend a reproachful look. "You can't do the one thing I asked you to do tonight! Are you trying to get killed? Because--"

    "Sam!" Al stood up; his voice boomed with the authority of the admiral he truly was, ordering Sam to be silent. Sam stopped dead in his tracks, his attention now fully on the commanding officer before him. Once Al had it, he spoke with a lower volume. "Kiyoko was raped. That's who the father of the baby is."

    Shock overtook Sam, and he was speechless. Al hadn't wanted to deliver the news like that, but the cat was out of the bag now, so he went on. "You want to know why we haven't leaped yet...that's why."

    Once the information was digested, Sam found his voice. "She was raped? How do you know?"

    "I remembered it." Al's lips were tight and he didn't divulge any further than that. He didn't need to. Sam knew what he meant. 

    "God, Al..." Sam ran his hand through his hair. "A-and you think this has something to do with us leaping?"

    "I'm positive. Don't ask me how I know, I just do." 

    Sam accepted this without hesitation, trusting in Al enough to know this was right. "So what do we do now?"

    _SMASH!_

    Their heads jerked toward the door. The sound had come from downstairs.   

    "What the hell was that?" asked Al.

    Sam slowly turned his head back to him. "I think we're about to find out what happened to the Tanakas."


	5. Chapter 5

    "Stay here, Al," Sam directed him as he headed for the door. Immediately, Al had stopped him with a vice-like grip to the arm.

    "I don't think so, Sam. You're not going out there alone!"

    "I'm not letting you get killed!"

    "And I'm not letting you get killed either!" Al shot right back at him, "I'm not letting you take the bullet for me, not again!" 

    Again? Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Al was pulling a bat out from under the bed. After that, he grabbed the lamp off the nightstand and held the bat out toward Sam. "Take this. We'll go out together."

    Sam didn't move. He was stubborn, but so was Al, and Al's stubborn streak ran deeper than his. In the end, Sam decided they didn't have time to argue. "Fine. But you take the bat."

    Al's eyes went skyward. "Sam..."

    "Don't argue with me. Just take the bat and let's go." Sam snagged the lamp from Al's hands and approached the door. The necessity of timing wasn't lost on Al, so he grudgingly accepted the bat and followed in the rear. 

\-------

    Painstakingly, agonizingly slow, Sam creaked open the door to the bedroom. All he could see was a dimly lit hallway. He swiveled around and gave Al a signal to keep quiet, and carefully stepped into the dark. 

    This was a bad move, it turned out, because within seconds a large figure had shoved him into the wall, the lamp falling from his fingers and smashing uselessly to the ground. 

    "SAM!" Al shouted, rushing forward with his bat at the ready. Unfortunately, he didn't see the second figure lurking behind him, and a long arm snaked around his throat, cutting off his air.

    "Al!" Enraged now, Sam punched his assailant in the jaw, only to receive a swift hit to the abdomen. The wind knocked out of him, he doubled over and looked up in time to see Al being pulled back into the bedroom. The next thing he saw was a fist flying toward his face. 

\-------

    Al gasped in a lungful of air as his throat was released and he was shoved inside the bedroom. The door slammed shut. His attacker had taken the bat away, so he grabbed for whatever possible weapon he could find: he decided this hefty old camera would do. When he spun back around, he took in a sharp breath. 

    In front of the door, there stood the man of Kiyoko's nightmares, the monstrous, smiling man. Although Al knew it was irrational-- _he_ hadn't been the victim--he was rooted to the spot, too terrified to move. 

    "You."

    "Me." The answer was almost playful, casual, as if they were friendly neighbors just meeting by the mailbox. "I must say, I wasn't expecting to see you again," he drawled, a hint of a southern accent showing through. He held the bat and caressed it sensually, as if it were part of his anatomy. "But you see, your husband saw my partner's face, and we can't have any witnesses. We were only gonna kill _him_ , but...wrong time, wrong place." He took a few easy steps forward, but Al stood transfixed. Frozen in fear, the camera slipped from his fingers and clacked to the ground. He could remember the event in Kiyoko's mind, as clearly as if it had just happened to him. The rape, the beating she received at this monster's hand, the exact moment she knew, just _knew_ , she was breathing her last. 

    Sweaty hands bruising her arms. Slimy lips over her mouth, a hot stench unfurling through his nostrils like a dragon. Fingers slipping between her thighs...

    "Funny thing is, I thought I'd killed you the first time...I get a little rough when I'm having fun." The rapist let out a raspy laugh, and took a few more bold steps. "But ain't I lucky? I get to enjoy you _again_ before you die. And you were one of my favorites."

    His pleasure, his pure _joy_ , at the prospect of committing such an unforgivable act again, that's what did it. A fire had lit inside Al, and it was quickly overtaking his fear. He wasn't Kiyoko. Kiyoko might not have been able to fight, but he could. He could be the justice she'd never gotten when time was wrong. Fuming, he clenched his fists. This nozzle needed to be taught a lesson, _big time_.

     "So," Al said icily, "you like to hurt women, do you? Makes you feel like a big man, huh?"

    The nightmare man simply bit his lip and grinned, taking another step and stopping about a foot away. Al made sure to stand up straight, lifting his chin to face him.

    "Well I've got news for you. You're small, smaller than a worm, smaller than the tiniest _amoeba_ in pond scum." This time, Al was the one to take a step forward. His eyes slit as he finished, "But none of that compares to how _small_ your _dick_ is."

    The man's smile wasn't permanent after all. With a furious roar, he made to swing the bat at Al, but that's what he was expecting. He ducked and rammed himself into the man's stomach, shoving him into the door. Unluckily, once the element of surprise was gone, the attacker's reflexes kicked in and he slammed a fist into Al's side. Pain lanced through him and he groaned, staggering away. Who the hell punches a pregnant woman in the stomach?! This knuckle-nose was a real sicko! 

    When Al had recovered from the cheap shot, he straightened up to find a gun pointed at him. There was that evil grin again. 

    "End of the road, darlin'."

\-------

    Sam had had just about enough of this. He caught his tormentor's arm as he made for another punch, and was incensed to see the round, nervous man who had tried to rob him. "Not you again!"

    Now that the fight wasn't going his way, the burglar started to sweat. "N-Nothing personal, man!"

    He caught a knee to the groin and crumpled to the ground. It was a pathetic finish to the fight, but Sam didn't have time to waste when Al was in danger. He leaped over the fallen man and shoved open the door to the bedroom.

\-------

    Eyes closed, Al was just about to make his peace with God (Time, Fate, or Whatever) when the door flew open and knocked the gunman in the ass. The weapon went off and hit the wall dangerously close to Al's head, but it slipped from the other man's fingers and slid across the floor. Sam had already jumped onto the attacker, pulling him to the ground, and in a flash, Al had grabbed the gun. 

    _Click._

    Sam and the other man stopped. The gun was pointed right between the rapist's eyes, and Al gave a cocky grin. "End of the road, darlin'."

    The man's face went pale and he began to tremble, raising his hands up. "Please...don't shoot."

    "Give me one reason why I shouldn't," Al growled.

    "Don't," Sam asked earnestly as he rose to his feet. He saw the rage in Al's eyes, and he knew without a doubt he really could pull the trigger. "It's not worth it. We'll call the police."

    "He raped her, Sam," Al spat hotly, "He's the scumbag who did it!" His hands were shaking in anger now. The man who had been so frightening before was just a puddle on the ground now, a sad old man pleading for his life.

    Sam wouldn't back down. He couldn't see Al kill someone in cold blood, not if he could help it. "It's over, Al. We stopped them."

    Sometimes, Al hated being friends with the eternal Boy Scout. Though he would never say it and give that animal before him the satisfaction, Sam was right. Self-defense was one thing, but they had them now. It wasn't up to him to be judge, jury, and executioner...even if the bastard deserved it. Reluctantly, he gave in and wordlessly told Sam he was backing down. The former nightmare man breathed a sigh of relief, to Al's disgust. 

    Sam was just glad he'd gotten through to his friend. "Alright, I'll call--" But he broke off when the pudgy, nervous man suddenly appeared in the doorway, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him out of the room. 

    "Sam!" 

\-------

      Al skidded out of the bedroom and aimed the gun, but Sam and the other man were moving too frantically to get a clear shot. Shit! He couldn't risk shooting Sam by accident. _Just move out of the way, Sam!_

    For his part, Sam was livid with self-reproach. Why hadn't he been paying attention to the other guy? The heavier man had not been a difficult opponent, and so he had appeared to be deceitfully non-threatening. And in the end, that had made him the more pressing threat. The fight seemed to be going Sam's way when he managed to get an elbow in and break himself free, but things quickly went very wrong. He felt himself being yanked by the arms and very suddenly his body was propelled toward the stairs. That was the last part he remembered. 

    With a series of sickening thuds, Sam rolled down the steps and landed at the bottom in an unconscious heap.

    "SAM!"

    That was all the distraction the nightmare man needed, and he'd knocked the gun from Al's hands. "Son of a bitch!" Al yelled and dived for the weapon. The other man dove too and they scrambled together, but Al had moved quicker by a fraction of a second. This time, there was no hesitation. Nobody, _nobody_ , got to hurt Sam. 

    The cool metal of the gun had barely touched Al's hands when he whipped it toward the nightmare man and pulled the trigger. To his dismay, it wasn't a very good shot. Not to say the target was undamaged, however, because blood spurted from the man's leg and he yelled in agony, rolling over. Al pointed the gun to make the final shot, but the damn bastard just wouldn't stay down! He knocked the gun out of Al's hands again and stood up to make a break for it. 

    "H-Hey, wait!" The round man, discovering he was being abandoned, followed suit. Al had the gun again, but they were already out the door. He couldn't go after them, not with Sam in trouble. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the gun aside and bounded down the stairs.

\-------

    "Sam! SAM!" 

    Sam had landed face-down, lying clumsily on one of his arms. Al rolled him onto his back and shook him lightly, afraid of injuring him further, and called his name again. No response. Thankfully, Al could see his chest moving and knew he was breathing, but his face was pale and there was a small gash on his head. _Oh god, please let him be okay_ , he pleaded silently to whoever was listening. 

    As he said his muted prayer, he tried to assess the damage. While Sam was the doctor, Al had had enough wartime experience to be able to make a general diagnosis. Sam's cheek was pretty bruised up, but that would heal in a few days. He was more worried about the gash on his forehead, and possible brain damage. Peeling back his eyelids, he breathed a sigh of relief. The pupils looked normal. Good, no concussion. His hands moved down and he started to feel for breaks.

    When he got to his shoulder, Sam's eyes snapped open. "GNYAAAH!"

    "Sam! Thank god you're awake!" Al let out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. 

    "Agh! What happened...?" Grimacing and holding his shoulder, Sam's eyes darted around the room in a daze. 

    "One of those bozos threw you down the stairs, that's what. I think you broke your shoulder, buddy." Al hadn't been able to get a very good feel, but he could tell by Sam's reaction and the nasty swelling that it was pretty bad. However, that wasn't the worry at the top of his list. Much as he wanted to believe those two scuzzbags would be halfway to the next town by now, he had a bad feeling. Glancing nervously toward the front door, and the trail of blood leading out of it, he said to his stricken friend, "Uh, listen, Sam, I don't want to risk them coming back while we wait for an ambulance. I think we should get to the car."

    "The car...?" He was trying, but Sam's pain-addled brain was confusing him. 

    "Yeah, Sam, the car," Al repeated. He knew with Sam out of commission, he'd need to take charge of the situation, so, as easily as slipping into a pair of old shoes, he shifted into military mode. One thing he learned in the Navy was to keep cool in the face of danger, and if he appeared in control, he would be. Sam was his responsibility now, and he was going to get him off the battlefield. 

    Taking his friend's good arm in his hands, he said in a collected tone, "C'mon, you're gonna have to help. I can't lift you by myself." Standing up alone was challenge enough for Al right now, so it would be next to impossible to carry Sam. "Sit up. Yeah, that's it, nice and easy."

    "Oh god..." Sam moaned. Bracing himself for more pain, he did manage to sit up, but he had to fight off a wave of nausea as he did so. The room started to spin. "Uggggh..."

    "Good, Sam, you're doing real good." Al reassured him as he got a tight grip on Sam's arm and prepared to lift. "Okay, you ready?"

    "As I'll ever be," gritted Sam through his teeth. What choice did he have?

    "Alright. Three, two, one..." 

    Al heaved and Sam pushed up with a scream. As soon as his right leg hit the ground, he hobbled toward the railing to catch himself. "Ow, damn! I think I twisted my ankle..." His eyes squeezed shut as he tried to ward off the pain.

    "Jeez, Sam, you're a mess." 

    "Thanks, Al…”

    "Sorry," Al said with a wince. It was a momentary lapse, and he snapped back into the admiral. "Okay, we're going to the car now." He wrapped Sam's arm around him and leaned in for support. Luckily (if there was any luck to this situation), Sam had injured his right ankle and his left shoulder, so Al could help carry him without him favoring the injured leg. "Alright, same as before. Three, two, one...go." 

    Sam hissed through his teeth as they moved forward in unison, starting their seemingly endless trek toward the Tanaka's car.

\-------

    "Wait!"

    Sam was fighting to sit up in his stretcher, only to immediately collapse as his shoulder screamed at him. He'd been cooperative as the staff was taking him to the emergency room, but as soon as Al had been asked to wait outside, he lost it. 

    "No! Wait!" he cried out again. His arm stretched out to grab his friend, but he wasn't thinking clearly and he tried to use his left. He pulled back and howled in agony. "Al!"

    He didn't even think about how strange it seemed that Akio had called his wife "Al," he was just afraid to leave his friend alone. They hadn't leaped, and that meant they might still die. This was no time to separate. 

    "Don't worry," Al told him, placing a firm hand on Sam's other shoulder, "They're going to take care of you."

    "Don't leave the hospital, Al," Sam begged, his face pale and glistening, "Whatever you do, stay here. Don't let..." He winced as his shoulder twinged. 

    "Of course. I'll be right here." Not a single thought of doing otherwise had crossed Al's mind. His hand dropped from Sam's shoulder as the stretcher was taken away. 

    As Sam was pushed forward, he somehow mustered up the strength to lift his head, watching as Al disappeared behind the swinging doors. 

\-------

    That was a rough one. Now that Sam was being tended to, Al had dropped his facade of confidence and shrunk with worry. It had nearly given him another panic attack when Sam had passed out in the car. He knew his friend was tough, he just hoped there wasn't any internal damage...A disturbing thought came to mind. What if they hadn't leaped because Sam was dying in there? They could've already failed.

    It couldn't be. Failure had nothing to do with leaping. No, Sam wouldn't die. God wouldn't let him survive everything he had, only to die after being thrown down a flight of stairs by some _phlegmwad_. It was too insignificant. People like Sam Beckett didn't go out that way. 

    Al _hated_ hospitals. 

    Knowing Sam would be in there for a bit, Al tucked himself into a quiet hallway and leaned against the wall. Waiting rooms were full of other injured people, and he didn't want to be reminded of Sam's state just now. Absentmindedly, he played with the hem of Kiyoko's floral shirt and tried to keep his mind elsewhere. 

    "Kiki?"

    His head lifted to see Emi frowning at him. "Emi? What are you doing here?"

    "I'm here with my uncle. It's nothing serious, just kidney stones," she explained quickly, "But what are you doing here? You're not having contractions, are you?"

    He wished she would stopped asking that. "No no no, there was, uh..." He sighed and ran his hand along his face. "It was a burglary at our house. Sa--Akio got hurt."

    "You're kidding!" Emi's mouth was agape. She suddenly seemed to remember something and reached into her oversized, pastel purse, handing him a water bottle. "Here, you look like you could use this."

    "Thanks." He _was_ parched. The last couple hours had been a lot of work for a pregnant woman, and Al wasn't used to having to pace himself so much. Not that it would have been easy if he'd been in peak physical condition. He gratefully accepted the water and took a big swig. 

    "But _you_ didn't get hurt, right?" 

    "No, I'm fine," Al said. He was finding that response repetitive too, but he managed a small smile of appreciation. "Uh, thanks for asking."

    "It's okay," Emi said with upturned brows, "I just worry, you know?"

    "You're a good friend, Emi." The adrenaline from the attack must have been wearing off, because Al was starting to feel exhausted. He scratched his temple and tried to keep his mind busy. "How's your uncle?"

    "He's fine. We're just waiting for it to pass." She launched into a long story about it, but Al's brain was too full to pay much attention. 

    Boy, he was tired. He didn't realize quite how tired he was until just then, and it hit him like a wave. Not now! Pregnancy fatigue could be a _bitch_. But he didn't have time to take a rest. He wanted to be there when Sam got through this. Thinking more water would help, he took another big gulp, tuning back in to Emi mid-sentence. 

    "...is scary, huh? I'm glad you didn't get hurt." Her lips thinned. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to the baby."

    "Yeah..." Al blinked and frowned. He was starting to feel lightheaded, and the ground began to sway. Something was very, very wrong. "I...I think I need to sit down."

    The hospital was moving more rapidly, and he staggered to keep his balance, the water bottle falling from limp fingers and splashing to the floor. Reacting quickly, Emi pulled over a nearby wheelchair, which Al practically fell into. What was wrong with him?

    "Emi, I need to...sssee a doctor..." he slurred. He was having trouble forming sentences, and his eyelids suddenly felt very heavy. That's when Emi ran her hand soothingly through his hair and very distantly, continents apart from his foggy mind, warning bells started to go off. 

    "Shh, it's okay...don't fight it..."

    What was happening? He wanted to get up, to run away, but his jellied arms and legs refused to cooperate with him. He thought he might've managed to sluggishly flop one arm to the right, but he couldn't be sure. As he fought to stay conscious, his head lolled to the side. 

    "Sssaaammmm..." His voice sounded thick and far away, and the world was fading fast, the lights dimming, the sterile white around him turning gray. He felt the vague sensation of being pushed forward, and the hospital was swallowed up in black. 

\-------

    Al could think of worse ways to spend an evening than parking in Lover's Lane and necking with a girl. And what a broad she was! Long blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders and framed a dollsome, classically beautiful face. Not that he could see it very well with their mouths pressed together. He loved running his hands through that hair though, breathing in the scent of his conquest. She smelled of flowers.

    "Ahem."

    "Mot mnow..." Al muffled through his lady's lips.

    "Ahem!"

    Talk about a mood killer. Al tore himself away from his girl to face the pest. "What do you want?"

    His eyes went wide. It was Clifford! Al had stolen his fiancee (although, to be fair, she was _his_ girl first) and now he was back for revenge. Wait, this had happened before...Al knew how it ended. This nozzle wasn't going to get away with it this time! Al had meant to bean him right in the nose, but he suddenly found his arms restricted in a tight rope. Beside him, Suzanne was now unconscious and slumped in her seat. 

    "Hey, let us go!" Al snarled as he struggled with his bonds. Clifford wordlessly reached over him, shifting the vehicle out of park. The car began to lurch forward, steadily making its way toward the cliff edge. Al had to get out of here, fast, but he couldn't escape these ropes!

    As suddenly as they had appeared, he gasped and found his arms free. No longer was he in the vehicle, but back in his old pinstriped suit, standing in a blue void. A short distance away, he could still see Lover's Lane, but it was as if he were watching through a barrier, divided from 1945 in his world of blue. Someone was in the car next to Suzanne, and Al stepped closer to get a look. _He_ couldn't be there, he was _here_ , so who had taken his place? Squinting, he saw a head of brown hair, broken with a shock of white.

    Sam! Sam was in that car, clothed in the army uniform Al had just been wearing, unconscious and drifting toward death. Al screamed his name and beat his hands against the glass, but he couldn't break out of this world and into Sam's. 

    "No, not again!" he cried out, pounding harder, "It should be me there! Sam!"

    To his surprise, Clifford responded to his cries and turned to face him. But it wasn't Clifford. It was Al, another Al, standing watch as Sam's vehicle got closer to the edge. He gave Al, the one in the blue world, a mischievous wink and a wave.

    "SAAAAAAAM!"

\-------

    Good lord! Had someone been clanging symbols next to his head? Al had the worst headache. Must have drifted off again. He had been pretty tired after...

    Holy cats! His eyes flew open as the memory of what had happened came flooding back to him, and he found himself in handcuffs. "What the...?" He stopped and coughed. His mouth felt drier than the Sahara. 

    He took in his surroundings. He was lying on an old bed in what looked to be a child's bedroom. Shelves on the wall were lined with a huge selection of toys, and a large, wooden crib took up a sizable section of the small room. Something was very...hinky, about this place, handcuffs aside. Everything was old and dusty, as if it had been sitting disused for some time. The eyes of chipped porcelain dolls watched Al creepily from the wall, and he turned away with a serious case of the heebie jeebies.

    Evidently deciding he needed to be kicked while he was down, the baby rudely planted its foot in Al's bladder. _Oof! Take it easy in there, Pele!_  

    The door opened and in came Emi. But something was different about her, what was it...? Hold on, where did her stomach go? Did she have the baby? How long was he out, anyway?

    "You drugged me..." Al croaked. His head still felt muzzy. 

    "I didn't want to, Kiki," said Emi, as she sat down on the end of the bed, "But I didn't have much choice. I didn't use very much; it should wear off completely pretty soon. After all, I didn't want to risk hurting the baby."

    Although it was hard with his hands cuffed behind him, Al managed to sit up. He was more confused than ever. "What's going on? Why did you do this?"

    Emi's face grew hard and she waited for a moment, smoothing out the sheets on the bed. "It's not fair, Kiki. It's not fair at all."

    "What's not fair?"

    "You!" Emi blurted out, "You're not fair! How long have we been friends, huh?"

    "Er..." Al had no idea. Thankfully it had been a rhetorical question.

    "Ever since high school, you've taken everything from me," said Emi, standing up to pace, "I wanted to be class president, you won. I wanted to go out with Jake Finkelstein, you got him. Everyone wanted to be your buddy, and I was just...I was just 'Kiyoko's friend.' And I stayed your friend because I love you! You know that! But I...damn it, I just wanted something for myself." She picked up a worn out teddy bear and studied its missing eye for a moment. 

    "You know how hard I tried to have a baby," she continued, "For so many years, I tried, and it just wouldn't come. And then look what happens to you!" Enraged, she tossed the bear at Al's head. His senses were still pretty dull, so he was slow to duck and took a hit to the face. 

    A creepy, crawly feeling edged up his spine. "You weren't really pregnant...were you?"

    "You didn't even want it!" Emi cried out tearfully, "I've wanted a baby for so long, and you go and get yourself raped, and now you're having what should be _mine_!" She emphasized the last part with an indignant finger to her chest.

    Al was starting to feel pretty crazy for initially sensing a friendship with this woman, but not nearly as crazy as _she_ had to be. She was absolutely _wacko_. He guessed she must be if she was drugging her best friend and cuffing her in a bed.

    "Look," Al rasped, trying to reason with her, "Emi, uh, sometimes things just don't work out like you want them to. But you know I'm your friend, right? I would never do anything to hurt you." A pause, then quietly. "I didn't get raped on purpose."

    "You won't love it," Emi sniffled, "not like I can."

    Al decided to try this from another angle. "There are other options, y'know. Like adopting! Yeah, there are plenty of good kids in orphanages who need homes." 

    This had apparently been the wrong thing to say. Fuming, Emi suddenly shrieked, "I don't WANT another baby! I want MY baby!"

    "Well kidnapping _me_ isn't going to get you a..." Al trailed off as his cloudy brain began to put together the pieces of her unhinged plan. He didn't like where his mind was going, and he sure as hell didn't like where hers was already at. He cocked his head. "W-Wait, you aren't planning on, uh...?"

    Straightening the pillows around Al, as if her outburst had never happened, Emi nodded sensibly. "You won't love it like I will."

    What little pity Al had had for this lady had quickly diminished. "So what are you planning on doing, cutting it out and taking it?" He was realizing, now, why Kiyoko had never been found in the original history. 

    "I would never do that!" Emi whined indignantly, as if he were the one being unreasonable, "I could injure the baby! I love it too much for that!" She picked up the fallen teddy bear and dusted it off with her hands, not that it did much in this musty room. "When I saw you and Akio rushing out of the house after the robbery, I got spooked, so I had to grab you early to keep you safe." Placing the teddy bear in its proper space on the shelf, she turned back and nodded resolutely. "I've got everything ready here. All I have to do is wait."

    "Wait? Wait for...?" Oh no. Oh no no _no_. Al's jaw dropped and his eyes grew to the size of saucers. She couldn't possibly mean what he thought she meant. Could she? Panic started to well up inside him. "Now hang on just a minute! Uh, look, we can figure this out!"

    "I'll see you soon, Kiki." 

    With that, Emi gave a friendly smile and shut the door. As the dust settled from the brief disturbance, Al's thoughts raced a mile a minute, but all he could manage to say was a stupefied, "Oh boy..."

\-------

    Something was buzzing in Sam's ear, but for the life of him he couldn't lift his hand to swat it away. All he wanted to do was sleep, but some persistent _thing_ was getting steadily louder. 

    "...ctor Beckett!"

    _Go away_ , Sam mumbled, but in reality it sounded less like words and more like nonsensical sounds. 

    "Dr. Beckett, you need to wake up!"

    _Just let me sleep..._

    "Dr. Beckett, please!"

    Maybe if he rolled over, he could block out the noise. This was a poor plan, because an ache in his shoulder brought him further to the surface where he didn't want to be. Reluctantly, he pried open his eyes and the wiggly form of a man slowly came into sight. What was he on, anyway? Oh, well. He didn't much care, because it felt _great_.

    "Dr. Beckett! We don't have much time!"

    "Wha…?" He forced himself awake and the room became clearer, although the man didn't. The man, the man...Oh, he knew who he was! "Gooshie..." he identified him happily. 

    "Yes, it's Gooshie, Dr. Beckett," the programmer said, encouraged by the response, "I'm sorry to wake you, b-but we've run into a small problem."

    "What problem?" Sam's smile faded in concern. Glassy eyes gazed around the room. "Where's Al...?"

    "That's what I came to talk to you about," Gooshie said urgently, "You've changed history! Now Akio survives, but Kiyoko still disappears. And Ziggy predicts with 94% certainty that if you don't find him within the next 45 minutes, Admiral Calavicci will die!"

    That sobered up Sam like a slap to the face. He shot up in his bed, a task only made possible by excellent painkillers. "Al's in trouble? What happened?"

    Fervently, Gooshie shook his head. "We don't know; I rushed here as soon as Ziggy made the prediction."

    "Center on him, Gooshie," Sam ordered, already swinging his legs off of the bed, "Find out where he is!"

    "Right away, Dr. Beckett!" With a quick sequence on the handlink, Gooshie popped out of the room. 

\-------

    Al didn't like being cuffed. It brought back too many memories of a time in his life he'd rather forget, when he'd been kept in tighter restraints and in much smaller spaces. They'd kept his hands tied behind him back then too. On several occasions he remembered his arms being twisted up above his head, so far it had pulled them out of their sockets, and those had been some of the easier days. Since his long entrapment in that jungle, he'd gotten sick any time a woman had wanted to tie him to the bed. Sure, he could do kinky stuff, but he couldn't do cuffs, or ropes, or belts. It just hit too close to home. No, he didn't much care for bondage at this point in his life. 

    One might think this would be his Achilles heel, but then one wouldn't know Al Calavicci very well. Because if Al had made damn sure he was good at one thing after that, it was escaping. First and foremost, he'd need to reach into the way back section of his mind and call upon a skill he'd had since he was a little kid.

    Back in the orphanage, he'd been known as "Al the pick," for his uncanny ability to pick locks. Mostly he’d used his gift to sneak out with girls, occasionally sprinkled with yet another colorful runaway attempt. No one was going to keep Al locked up, not when the whole world was out there. He didn't belong in a cage. 

    Presently, all he’d need to spring him was...well, a spring. 

    And there it was. On one of the shelves, he spotted an old jack-in-the-box, his smiley, creepy, guardian angel. That would do nicely. Thankfully, Emi was not a professional at this kidnapping thing, so Al was not handcuffed to anything else. He got up off the bed and approached the shelf that contained his ticket out of here. It was too high to reach, but he noticed the shelf wasn't pinned down. The "shelves" were simply boards resting on braces, and that made this almost too easy. He jumped up and thwacked his head against it, sending the jack-in-the-box crashing to the floor and breaking into several pieces.

    "Good thing I have a hard head," Al muttered to himself, "Gee, how many of my wives would argue on that point?"

    Among the broken innards of the jack-in-the-box, he saw the spring he was looking for. The tricky part, really, was getting to the ground without falling on his ass. He made a noise and managed to squat down and then sit, resting his tired ankles. Well, could've been worse. Fingers reaching blindly behind him, he found the spring, and within a minute he had those cuffs off of his wrists. Bada bing, bada boom! Proudly, he gave a stifled cry of victory.

    "Oho, Calavicci, you've still got it!"

    "Admiral--"

    "Ah!" Al nearly jumped out of his skin, his eyes flying wildly around the room. "Who said that?"

    "It's me, Gooshie!" came the disembodied voice. 

    "It's about time you showed up!" Al complained, although he was glad to hear the programmer. He awkwardly stood up. Not surprised at finding the door locked, he stuck the spring inside and went to work. "But you're late. I was just about to pull my Houdini act and disappear." 

    "I-I wouldn't choose that phrase, Admiral."

    "Why's that?" Al asked. Nothing. He turned and faced his invisible friend. "Gooshie?" 

    "Don't panic, but...Ziggy's predicting that within the next 45 minutes, you're going to die."

    "What?!" 

    "I said don't panic!" Gooshie pleaded. He was the least comforting man on the planet. 

    "I'll panic all I'll damn well want, sardine breath!" Al yelled, "What do you mean, I'm gonna die? How?"

    "We don't know! Time is in flux; I'm sorry!" The sound of the handlink chirping. "B-But don't worry, Dr. Beckett is on the way."

    "Sam? Is he okay?"

    "Oh he's doing just fine, Admiral."

\-------

    "Which car is my car?" Sam asked no one dumbly as he limped across the parking lot. He knew it was blue or something...ah! There it was. Blue car.

    As he and Al had surmised, he had a broken shoulder and a twisted ankle, but thankfully nothing else outside of some nasty bruises. His injuries probably should've been bothering him more, but he'd been given some good stuff before he'd checked out. Well, he hadn't "checked" out of the hospital so much as "snuck" out, like a grounded teenager. He knew that there was no way a doctor was going to let him leave yet, much less drive, so he decided to just not tell anyone. Besides, he was feeling fine, what did they know? He was a doctor too. His shirt had been cut off after he'd arrived at the hospital, and so there he was, dressed in scrubs and a sling, shuffling on a borrowed crutch across the parking lot like a zombie. Driving one-handed was going to be a bit of a challenge.

    Then he was reminded of how terrible this car was, because once again he was stuck just trying to get it started. 

    "Doctor Beckett." Sam turned lethargically to see Gooshie "sitting" next to him. 

    "Where is he?" 

    "He's being held captive at Emi Oshiro's house, let me pull up the address..." Gooshie frantically began to pull up the information when there was a loud sputter, and the car started. Sam gave a wide grin.

    "Hey, I got it!"

    Unknown to either scientist or hologram, two angry men sat in a nearby car and watched, biding their time. As Sam pulled out, they weren't far behind. 

\-------

    Al couldn't just sit and wait for rescue, because if Sam didn't make it in time, he'd only have himself to rely on. What happened in the next 45 minutes that got him killed? Emi had made it clear that she wanted Kiyoko alive until the baby was born, so he could only assume his escape attempt had gone wrong. 

    Okay, so try a _different_ escape. Duh. 

    Originally, he'd planned on unlocking the door and simply sneaking out, so maybe Emi had caught him and accidentally killed him during the recapture. So, he deduced, he needed to get Emi out of the way. Maybe a more direct approach was in order. 

    _Time to man up, Al._

\-------

    "Ooh! Ah! Urgh!"

    Emi excitedly bumbled inside. Al was writhing on the bed, moaning exaggeratedly, in what he thought was a pretty good imitation of a woman in labor. 

    "Is it time already?" 

    "I think this is it!" Al groaned, "Yeah, definitely it! Ooh!" He clutched his stomach and rolled around some more, then asked imploringly, "Hey, help a sister out, will you? I might need a little assistance over here. Ooh! Ah!"

    Emi eagerly approached, biting her fingers in delight. "My baby..."

    "The baby..." Feigning pain, Al whispered it barely loud enough to hear. "I have to tell you something...about the baby..." 

    Emi leaned in closer to make out what he was saying. "Yes?"

    "The baby..." Even closer... "...is staying right where it is."

    He pulled his hands out from behind him and whacked her across the face with a particularly hefty book. With one fell swoop, she was down for the count. 

    Al tossed the book aside and slid off the bed. He hated to hit a woman, even one who had just drugged and kidnapped him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Time to get out of this freak show. 

\-------

    If he hadn't just been inside the baby room from hell, he'd never have known anything was amiss here. The rest of the small house was neat, clean, and put together. Emi must have been keeping that room as it was for a long time. She _really_ wanted that baby. Now wasn't the time to ponder on her housekeeping or sanity, though. He continued down the hall and nearly screeched to a stop. Great. _Another_ set of stairs. The bane of his short leaping existence. 

    As an extra fun bonus, his back was killing him, probably from being stuck on that spring bed for however long he was in la la land. _Thanks a bunch, Emi. Now I'm glad you paid for the pizza._

     Rubbing his aching muscles, he took a moment to catch his breath. How did pregnant women do this for nine months? After a few days of this, Al was feeling like he had one lung and he'd swallowed an angry gnome, but maybe he wouldn't feel half as bad if a kidnapping hadn't just been added on top of an assault. Today was turning into a very long day. 

    "You're not going anywhere!" 

    He barely had time to turn and react before he saw the bookend swinging toward his head, when suddenly Emi was shoved into the open bedroom by a crutch. Sam slammed the door shut and grabbed the desk in the hall, but he couldn't get ahold of it one-handed. Al was happy to assist, and the two of them managed to haul it into place, blocking her in. It was enough to wind both of them. Panting, Sam turned to face Al as Emi screamed and pounded uselessly on the door, tossing him a big, gaping smile. 

    "I'm here to rescue you."

    "Sam, I could kiss ya!" Al reached out to hug him, but Sam winced and jerked away. "Oh, sorry!"

    Despite himself, Sam laughed. "Don't worry about it."

    "You're never gonna believe this, Sam. Emi wanted to _steal_ Kiyoko's baby! That's why she wasn't found in the original history--she was killed by someone _else_!" 

    "Huh?" 

    It took much too long to realize Sam wasn't entirely there. His eyes were too bright, his speech too punchy. No wonder! After doing the shake, rattle, and roll with that staircase, he must've been doped up pretty good. What was he doing walking around in that condition? That was bananas! Still, he _had_ saved his life, so Al supposed he could forgive him for now. 

    "Never mind. Let me drive you back to the hospital, Sammy."

    Sam sniffed and slowly nodded, eyeing the house. Yeah, he definitely was out to lunch. "Hey, this is a nice place..."

    "Yeah, just so long as you don't venture into Mommie Dearest's room over there." Al jerked his thumb toward Emi's muffled hollers and lightly pushed Sam ahead of him. 

    Well, they'd made it. Crisis averted. Neither of them had gotten killed, though not for lack of trying, so what was the holdup? Why weren't they leaping? 

    As they were walking down the stairs, Al felt a strange popping sensation inside him and came to a halt. Eck. What was _that_ all about? On top of that, he'd been feeling this awful cramp in his groin since they'd taken Emi out of the equation and it was really starting to bother him now. He rubbed the affected area to try and soothe it. 

    "Al, what's wrong?"

    "I dunno, Sam. I feel weird."

    "Weird?" Concerned, Sam hopped back up the stairs to meet him. "Weird how?"

    "Give me a second." Al sat down on the steps and concentrated on his breathing. His stomach was doing all sorts of flip flops as his friend bent down beside him. 

    "Tell me what's going on." 

    "I'll be fine in a minute," Al said, more for his own benefit than Sam's. He shifted uncomfortably and rubbed his back. 

    As iffy as he was at the moment, Sam was really worried about Al, both as his friend and as a doctor. Though he was still feeling out of it, his fear for Al helped him focus. He moved to get a closer look, and that's when he noticed the wetness on the floor. 

    Oh. _Oh!_

    "Al...I think your water just broke."

    "WHAT?!"

    "Just stay calm--"

    "That's impossible, Sam!" Al squealed, "How can that happen? I don't have any water to break!"

    "Obviously, if Kiyoko's about to give birth, then it must be transferring over to you," Sam explained matter-of-factly.

    "What?! I can't be going into labor!" Al was starting to hyperventilate again. This was not happening. It _couldn't._ Sam tried to comfort him with the facts. 

    "It hasn't happened yet, okay? Once your water breaks, it can take up to 48 hours before contractions start."

    "Oh thank god! We still have time to leap..." Al closed his eyes and pressed his head against the railing. This was cutting it too close. 

    "Of course, it can also take minutes..."

    Al's eyes shot open. "Then plug it back up!"

    "What? You can't plug it back up once someone's water breaks, Al!"

    "You're the doctor, you figure it out! I'm not having a baby, Sam!"

    "Okay okay okay okay okay..." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam tried to clear his fuzzy mind. "Uh...Antibiotics. If, uh, if there's a premature rupture of membranes, sometimes antibiotics are administered to prevent labor."

    "Excellent! I'll take it!" 

    "But that's usually if the baby is going to be born premature," Sam informed him, "Kiyoko's at 41 weeks, Al. How're we gonna convince a doctor the birth needs to be stopped?"

    "I don't care if we tell them it's Rosemary's Baby," Al said as he pulled himself up, "Let's just get this show on the road!" He was about to start forward when, suddenly, he tensed up. "Sam?"

    "Al?" Sam was afraid the contractions were already starting.

    "Duck!"

    "Du--?" He was broken off when Al pulled both of them down, a bullet shattering the railing they'd just been in front of. A fresh surge of pain hit Sam's shoulder as he landed on the steps, temporarily blinding him. He squinted to see who had fired at them. In the doorway stood their two attackers from earlier, wounds dressed and re-armed. 

    Swell. Tweedledee and Tweedledum. When Al had thought this was turning out to be a long night, he had no idea. 

    That's when it hit him. An intense pain like nothing he'd ever experienced before, nor wanted to experience again. His back ache radiated around him and he felt his abdomen tighten, an awful, painful pull. It felt as if someone were squeezing his groin _hard_ and trying to wring him out. As it slowly built up, he found the breath knocked out of him.

    "Aghnnnn..."

    "Al?"

    Sam only had a moment to face his distressed friend before they heard the clicks of guns, and the other two men were at the bottom of the stairs, ready to shoot. 

    Finding no other words to say, Al managed to pant out, "Ain't that a kick in the butt?"


	6. Chapter 6

    If Sam were superstitious, right about now he'd be thinking that something otherworldly was conspiring against them this leap, and it badly wanted them dead. Of course, he was more of a believer in scientific fact, so all he could chalk this up to was a case of incredibly, unbelievably bad luck. 

    Al, on the other hand, was _extremely_ superstitious, and he was meaning to have a strong word with the devil if they didn't make it out of this one. 

    "Time for payback, you little bitch," said Smiley with his trademark grin. He pointed his gun at Al. 

    Emi screamed again and, as Tubby reacted instinctually, Sam swept his leg under him and the man tumbled into his co-conspirator. Unfortunately, he used his bad leg, and the painkillers weren't enough to mask the unpleasantness that brought on. If he'd been running on all cylinders, he'd have thought to use his crutch instead. With a muffled cry, he took hold of his leg, but he didn't have time to recover right now. The two men were frantically trying to pick up the guns they'd dropped. 

    "Agh! Come on, Al, we have to move!" 

    With the pain of that first contraction subsided, Al was able to pull himself out of shock and follow Sam out the door.

\-------

    They didn't have any choice but to run. Neither of them were in any shape to be doing any fighting, and it was urgent they get to the hospital. Once they were there, they'd be safe from further attack until they could get ahold of the police. After that (fingers crossed), they would leap. Now it was just a race to the finish line. 

    "I felt it, Sam!" Al gasped out as they ran to the car, "I--I felt a contraction in there! Oh god..." He was finding it hard to believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. He was finding this whole situation hard to swallow, truthfully. 

    "I know, Al," Sam responded as he opened the front door, "Get in."

    "What're you doin', Sam? You shouldn't be driving!"

    "Neither should you, now let's argue in the car!" Sam ducked into the front seat as Al reluctantly got into the passenger side. He turned the key and, like a clockwork, the car refused to start. "Damn it, not now!"

    A shot rang out and the passenger's side mirror blasted into pieces. A wide-eyed Al turned his head to see their two biggest fans closing in on them. "Uh, Sam, they're comin'!"

    "Start, you piece of junk!" Sam chastised the car and smacked the dashboard. The third time was the charm, and the vehicle roared to life, followed by a triumphant laugh. 

    As the gunmen raised their weapons again, Al clung to the dashboard anxiously and yelled, "Floor it!"

    There was no need to say it twice. Sam's good foot slammed onto the gas and the car booked it down the street.

\-------

    As the Crawford house got smaller in the distance, Al was able to breathe a little easier. Well, as easy as his reduced lung capacity would allow him. Meanwhile, Sam was focused intensely on the road, blinking away the bleariness that clung to the corners of his eyes. 

    "How are you feeling?" he asked Al, ignoring his own handicaps. 

    "Okay I guess. I'll feel better when we get as far as possible from those two chuckleheads!" Al hugged his stomach uneasily and stared out the window. 

    "No, I mean--"

    "Just drive, Sam!" Al didn't mean to snap at him, but he was too terrified for politeness. He wanted out of this situation as quickly as possible, and what he'd felt in that house was too close for comfort. 

    "Don't worry, the hospital's about twenty minutes away. We'll be out of here in no time."

    "Well you'd better step on it, then." 

    They continued their drive in silence for a while. Sam didn't want to say anything to send Al into any more hysterics, but he wasn't feeling so hot himself. His stomach was queasy and he was feeling lightheaded, which could have to do with the stress, his injuries, the meds, or check all of the above. If his mind hadn't been so scrambled, he probably would have weighed the risks between his and Al's driving a little better and found he was more of a liability. But it was too late to change his mind now, and so he powered forward. 

    " _Dio mio!_ " The silence was broken when Al spotted a vehicle tailing them. "They're following us!" Sure enough, their shadows were in the front seats of the other car. 

    "Oh give me a break!" Sam shouted in exasperation.

    "You've gotta lose 'em, Sam!"

    He could do that. "Hold on, Al."

    Al flew into the side of the car as Sam jerked the wheel to the right and ducked into a small side street. Unfortunately, the other vehicle was able to keep up, so Sam made a left. Same result. This was incredibly difficult to do with one hand, he was finding out. He wondered where the police were, but it was getting very late. 

    Thinking he was feeling sick from the tumbling, Al gripped the handle above the window to stabilize himself. But the nausea grew into another wave of pain, taking him by surprise. 

    "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" The car swerved as Sam reacted to Al's exclamation. Waving ahead of them, Al rasped out, "Don't look at me, Sam, look at the road!"

    Sam snapped his attention back to his driving. Their tail unshaken, he decided he needed to take a riskier gamble. Up ahead, a section of road was closed off for repairs, a deep hole dug out of the asphalt. He aimed the vehicle toward it and sped forward.

    "Uh, Sam...?" Al grimaced, tightly gripping his seat, "What're you doing? SAM!"

    Sam had a plan. A dangerous, drug-addled plan. As Al was preparing for impact, the vehicle veered sharply to the right. The other car couldn't react fast enough, and it went crashing into the construction. Sam couldn't believe that had paid off! Say, he was getting pretty good at this!

    "Unghhh..." Al's eyes squeezed shut as he waited for the contraction to subside. 

    Oh yeah. While Sam was sidetracked with Al, he was blindsided by a wave of dizziness and the car weaved uneasily. Although his fogginess made it hard to judge, he managed to correct himself fairly quickly. Good, he thought. Nothing he couldn't handle. He'd lost their would-be murderers, and soon they'd be at the hospital, and soon he would stop feeling like the world was rotating.

    "Sam, look out!"

    One metallic crunch later, Sam wasn't feeling much of anything anymore. 

\-------

    Sam was aware that something urgent was happening, but damn if he knew what it was. In addition to his disorientation, someone had rudely turned out the lights. Mentally, he tried to retrace his steps as he felt his way through the darkness. Let's see, he was at the hospital, and then he was shoving a woman through a door for some reason, and then he was in a car... _driving_ a car... _crashing_ a car!

    He jolted awake and found himself still in the vehicle, only now it was wrapped around a telephone pole. A jackhammer was going off nearby, or maybe it was in his head, making it difficult to think. God, he must've smashed onto the dashboard. Thank goodness they were wearing their seatbelts, or he and Al would've...

    "Al!" he gasped. 

    His attention was immediately on the seat next to him, where Al sat with his chin slumped against his chest, a small amount of blood coming from his nose. This sobered Sam up very rapidly, and he fumbled clumsily to unhook his seatbelt and free himself. Once he'd gotten loose, he grabbed Al by the arms.

    "Al! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

    "Urmmm..." A soft noise came from his friend as he slowly came back to the waking world. 

    "Al, can you hear me?"

    "Ughhhh..." Al's head lifted, his face twisted in pain.

    Scared he'd been injured in the crash, Sam asked more urgently, "Are you hurt? Talk to me!"

    "Aghhhh..." Al moaned again, gripping his abdomen, "it's another...damn contraction..." He tilted his head back and blew out his breath. 

    "Oh thank god..." Sam sighed in relief.

    "Screw you too!”

    "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Sam apologized remorsefully, and his head fell into his hands. He felt absolutely horrible for putting them in this situation, and he hoped Al would be able to forgive him. As thankful as he was that neither of them appeared to be injured any further from the accident, he was now stuck with figuring out how to get to the hospital. He wasn't very good with cars, but he had a hunch that this one had reached the end of its life. "Payphone," he mumbled through his fingers. 

    "Heh?" Al gave him a quizzical look as he was wiping the blood from his nose. Sam opened the door and staggered out.

    "Gotta find a payphone. I'll call 9-1-1."

    "Hang on a second," said Al as he exited the car too, " _I'll_ find the phone. You shouldn't be walking on that." He noted Sam's swollen ankle. 

    "Um, Al..."

    "What?"

    "I don't want to alarm you, but our friends are coming this way."

    Following Sam's gaze, Al saw Smiley and Tubby distantly down the road, lit yellow by streetlights. "Would they just buzz off already?!" Al's fear had been cancelled out by his headache at their persistence. "I don't think they've seen us yet..."

    "Okay, uh..." Trying to ascertain their location, Sam looked to the street sign. The name was familiar. Hey, there was an idea! "Al, we're close to the pharmacy!"

    "I don't think they're open, Sam," Al said, dripping with sarcasm.

    "No no, there's a phone in there. We can call the police and block ourselves in until they arrive. There's security bars that should keep those two out. It's about a block that way. You up for the walk?"

    "Am I up for the walk?" Al repeated dryly, eyeballing Sam's ankle and rolling his eyes. He handed Sam his forgotten crutch and motioned ahead. "Lead the way."

\-------

    By the time they reached the pharmacy, Al was huffing and puffing again. As Sam locked the door behind them, Al put his hands on his thighs and tried to capture his breath. "Oh I feel awful, Sam..."

    "Hang on, I'll be right back." Sam disappeared into the back, re-emerging shortly after with a fold-out chair. Al was eager to take it, although it was hardly comfortable. "Sorry, it's the best I can do. The phone's in the back." Repeating his familiar _plunk-hop_ , Sam again retreated to the back of the pharmacy.

    Eyes closed, Al only had a moment to rest when he heard Gooshie's tinny voice again. "Admiral Calavicci!"

    "Gah! Would you cut that out?"

    "Would you like me to ring a little bell first?" Cute. _This_ was the moment he decided to develop a sense of humor? 

    "What the hell is going on, Gooshie?" Al demanded, "Where have you been?"

    "Well, ahem...we've been a bit busy with Mrs. Tanaka. She's, uh...well, I'm sure you know."

    "I'm aware, yes," Al responded testily, "Sam's calling the police, does that get us out of this damn leap?"

    "Er...no."

    "Gooshie!" If Al's energy wasn't being depleted from this damn labor, it sure as hell was being sucked away from being steamed at Gooshie. 

    "Well...Jack Littleton and Greg Quinn are outside."

    "Who?" Al asked irately as he rubbed his stomach. 

    "Those are the men who tried to kill you." 

    Holy toledo! They couldn't get rid of these goons! "Great, now I can put a name to an ugly face. Who's who?"

    "Well, Greg Quinn is the one who attempted the initial robbery, and Jack Littleton is his partner."

    Al's eyes flashed. Somehow, learning their names made them more real, and less like boogeymen. And that made him want to knock them into the middle of next week even more. Or was that _last_ week, since they were over a decade in the past? Wait... "Hey, how'd you get their names? I thought you said they were never caught."

    "In the original history, they weren't," Gooshie confirmed, "But you've changed history again, and this time they get caught by the police outside this pharmacy."

    "Fantastic! Then that means we should be leaping, right?"

    "Errrr..."

    "Damn it, Gooshie, why?!"

    "Because they get caught...after murdering Akio and Kiyoko Tanaka," Gooshie informed him, hating to once again be the bearer of bad news. Why couldn't the Observer have any nice updates on the situation for once? He didn't envy Al's job. That is, if he was ever coming back to it.

    "Again?!" Al shouted angrily, "Why do I feel like I'm stuck in Groundhog's Day?" He sighed and tried to peer out the window, but he was a little too far and it was a little too dark outside to make out anything. "How do they get in? There's security bars all over this place! All we have to do is wait for the police to show up, right?"

    "Theoretically, that would work..." Gooshie said slowly, trying to stay upbeat, but he did have more bad news, "...i-if the phone line hadn't been--"

    "The line's cut!" yelled Sam as he reentered the room, doing a double take when he saw the programmer.

    "What he said." Gooshie jabbed a thumb at Sam, although Al couldn't see it anyway.

    "We get murdered _again_ , Sam." Al was going crazy having to repeat that so much this leap. Sam only needed a moment to think it over. 

    "We can't stay here then. Maybe we can flag someone down outside." He started toward the door, but Gooshie, alarmed, rushed in front, causing Sam to pass right through his holographic image. 

    "I wouldn't do that, Dr. Beckett!" he warned. 

    "Why?"

    "Because the Wonder Twins are out there," groused Al, rubbing his eyes. 

    "Exactly. And Ziggy predicts that if either of you go outside, there's an 87% chance you'll be killed." 

    At this latest grim prediction, Sam leaned against the counter, overcome. "So the line’s dead, two killers are outside, and we can't leave." 

    "Looks like we're trying to fit ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag." Al angrily glared at the wall and bit his lip. This was becoming a hopeless situation, and more and more he was beginning to feel like maybe this was one of those fixed points in time that couldn't be changed, and Akio and Kiyoko were fated to die. Only it wouldn't be the Tanakas who died, it would be _them_. 

    "Gooshie, what does Ziggy predict our odds are if we stay here?" Sam asked. 

    "What?! Stay here? Sam!" Al sat up straighter in his chair as Gooshie consulted the handlink.

    "The odds go up, but Ziggy isn't sure."

    " _Make_ sure, then," Sam ordered, "Go back to the Project, have Ziggy figure out how to get us out of here."

    "Right away, Dr. Beckett." Entering the familiar sequence into the handlink, the door whooshed up, and Gooshie made his leave. Sam limped behind the counter.

    "Sam, are you listening to me? SAM!" Al was waving frantically to get his attention. "We can't stay here! We have to go to the hospital and-and-and stop the labor!" 

    "We can't leave or we die, Al," Sam reminded him as he bent down.

    "I'll take my chances, thank you very much!" Determined to leave this situation immediately, Al pushed himself out of his chair, only to immediately collapse in pain as a contraction started up again. Ignoring Al's moans, Sam focused his attention on obtaining what he was looking for. Although the painkillers were starting to wear off, he only had so much brain to utilize at the moment. "What the hell are you doing over there?" came Al's gravelly voice. 

    "Looking for this." Sam re-emerged from below the counter and placed a large first aid bag in front of him. Al raised an eyebrow.

    "First aid? For what?"

    Sam didn't say anything. He gave Al an apologetic look and leaned forward on the countertop. As the realization dawned on him, Al exploded.

    "Oh no no no! NO!"

    "We don't have any other choice, Al," Sam tried to sound reasonable, "We can't leave, and the baby's coming, so...we'll just have to have it here."

    "'Have it'?" Al echoed, "'HAVE IT'?! Are you nuts?!" Frantic for a way out, his eyes darted toward the shelves. "Look, Sam, we're in a pharmacy. I'm sure there are some antibiotics around here! _You_ could give them to me!" He wasn't crazy about the idea of Sam giving him anything after turning their car into a scrap heap, but he was even less crazy about the possibility of actually giving birth. 

    "Antibiotics wouldn't work at this point, not after labor's started. We'd need something tocolytic. Terbutaline, nifedipine, uh, indomethacine..."

    "Toco-what?" Al shook his head and didn't wait for a response. "Never mind, is there any of it around here?"

    "Tocolytic; it suppresses contractions," Sam quickly explained, mostly out of a compulsive need to correctly inform him. He knew it was pointless anyway, because this was followed by, "But look, it doesn't matter, because...I don't think it would...actually work." He raised his eyebrows sheepishly.

    "What do you mean? Why wouldn't it work?"

    "Because you're not the one in labor."

    "Like hell I'm not!" Al shot back defensively.

    "Not really," Sam stated, "What you're feeling right now is Kiyoko's labor pain in the Waiting Room. If I gave you anything, it wouldn't affect her. They'd have to give something to Kiyoko to stop the labor, and they're not going to stop her at 41 weeks, Al. It's dangerous."

    The look Al was giving him could've melted him on the spot. He couldn't believe Sam's utter _betrayal_. Seething, he quietly hissed through his teeth, "You mean to tell me you knew...all this time...that it wouldn't work...and you strung me along anyway?"

    "I'm sorry, Al," Sam said earnestly, apologizing for what seemed like the hundredth time this leap, "I didn't know what else to tell you...I figured we'd be leaping by now."

    "Well we aren't! And now we're stuck here and, and now you're telling me I've gotta deliver the baby and--and I can't, Sam! I just can't!" Al was babbling now, petrified. 

    "Yes you can."

    "No I can't!" he shrieked, his voice rising an octave, "I don't know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies, Sam!" This wasn't what he wanted to hear. This wasn't where he wanted to be. Part of him refused to believe it. He was out of breath again, fighting to keep what little control he had left. 

    Sam felt like a jerk for lying to Al, even if it had been simply by omitting information, but he hadn't known what else to do. Besides, he hadn't been altogether there when this started anyway. It was difficult for him to break this news, and he knew Al wouldn't take it well, but it still hurt to see him struggling to come to grips with this. Staggering back around the counter, he kneeled next to him, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Hey. I'll help get you through this."

    Al met his eyes with the look of a man who had just been sentenced to the electric chair. Defeated, he slumped in his chair and stared dead-eyed at the wall. "Okay...tell me what to do."

\-------

    Jack peered through the window of Akio Tanaka's pharmacy, sneering as he saw that bitch of a wife panting and wheezing. He took immense pleasure in seeing her in pain. This night had started out as a clean-up mission, but now he was in it for revenge. Shoot _him_ in the leg? Make a fool of out him? No woman could ever get away with that. Yes, he had special place in heart for seeing _this_ woman suffer. 

    As usual, Greg was jumpy. He leaned over Jack's shoulder and whispered, "Why don't we just shoot them through the window and get the hell out of here?"

    "Can't get a clear shot," Jack said, his eyes glued to Mrs. Tanaka, "And the noise will bring us too much attention out in the open like this."

    "So what do we do? They're going to report us, man!" Greg was holding his head and pacing. He'd already been to jail once, and it didn't suit him, not in the slightest. 

    Jack, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber. He knew they had them right where they wanted them. "That bitch is dropping her baby," he said, "They're gonna have to come out sometime. All we need to do is wait." His sinister smile danced onto his lips.

\-------

    "Son of a bitch!" 

    Al was beginning to miss his contractions from earlier, because now he felt like he was being punched in the gut by Muhammad Ali. Sharp pain stabbed at him as he writhed on the floor in agony, but no matter how he positioned himself, he couldn't get comfortable. One of his only small reliefs was that he’d broken out into a sweat, since it cooled off his face.

    The pharmacy might have been barred, but they were still exposed in the front, so Sam had suggested they move to the back and out of sight. Once he'd grabbed some more items he thought they would need, they'd headed there and locked the door.

    His ankle and shoulder were really starting to ache now, and he knew it was only going to get worse, so he took four ibuprofen to try and stave it off. It was the strongest non-prescription painkiller he could find, and although there was likely something stronger in the pharmacy, he wasn't going to steal someone else's prescription. They might run into an emergency and really need it, not to mention he didn't want to endanger Akio's job. Besides, stealing was wrong. 

    All he'd really needed from the first aid kit was the emergency blanket, pillow, and a set of sterile gloves. For such an agonizing event, birth was a surprisingly simple process. Saving the blanket for later, he'd given Al the pillow to rest on and sat against the wall next to him. And so Al was on the floor, contemplating just what awful sin he'd committed to be given this lot in life. 

    "How far apart are the contractions?" Sam asked, wincing as he leaned his shoulder against the wall. 

    "Oh I don't know, Sam!" Al groaned, "I've been, ah...too focused on not dying!" He pulled his hands over his face and muffled, "Agh, I can't believe this is happening!" 

    "Here, Al, try this. Do what I do." Leaning in, Sam gave an encouraging look and began demonstrating Lamaze breathing to help relieve the pain. 

    Peering at him through his fingers, Al looked like he wanted to die. Actually, he really did. His eyes rolled heavenward. _When I leap, please don't let me remember this_ , he prayed. However, this really, _really_ hurt, so dignity was out the window at this point. Following Sam's lead, he started the same breathing technique. 

    "That's it, you're doing great."

    This stupid breathing thing could kick in _any minute now_ , thanks. But try as Al might, the contractions weren't feeling any less unbearable. He exhaled a deep breath and pounded the ground in frustration. "It's not doing anything, Sam!" This must be one of those things only Kiyoko was in charge of. What in god's name was she doing back at the Project, taking the day off? Do something useful! He was only having her baby for her, the least she could do was breathe properly!

    "Just keep trying. Like this, remember?" Eyes big and earnest, Sam again started showing Al how to breathe. This was interrupted when he was yanked forward by his scrubs. 

    "You do that...one more time..." Al panted, "and I'll break your windpipe..." 

    "Okay."

    "I mean it...I'll just...murder you horribly..." 

    "Okay. Understood." Sam backed off and went quiet. Nodding resolutely, Al leaned onto his pillow and stared at the ceiling. 

    "How long...does this usually...last anyway?"

    "On average? About eight hours." 

    "Oh fuck me!" Al went white and reached haphazardly toward the bucket Sam had grabbed earlier. Hurriedly, Sam handed it to him and he heaved into it. 

    "But judging from how far along you seem to be, I don't think we'll have to wait that long," Sam said as he handed him a paper towel to wipe his mouth, "If I had to make an educated guess, I'd say at _most_ you'd have a few hours left."

    "A few _hours_..." Al moaned. If he was honest with himself, he would have spewed chunks whether he'd gotten a short or long estimate. He didn't think he'd ever be ready for this, but at the same time, he wanted it over and done. "AGHHHH!"

    Another excruciating wave stole his breath. It was as if he were in a giant vice, slowly squeezing him to within an inch of his life. And it _just wouldn't end_. Despite all his best efforts not to, he broke down into tears. He couldn't help it. It was as if his body had turned against him, a mutinous turning inside out that left him barely able to register what was happening around him. This wasn't his skin, it was someone else's, holding him prisoner, draining away what was left of Al Calavicci. But he couldn't leave, not now, not before he'd made right what he'd made wrong. 

    Wordlessly, Sam had taken a wet-down wash cloth and started dabbing Al's forehead. He didn't want to see him like this, but he couldn't do much to help him. The best he could do was be there to make this as easy as possible...even if it was just by way of support. As he was applying the wash cloth, Al grabbed his hand to get his attention.

    "Sam," he grimaced, "I want you...to promise me something...if I die here--"

    "Al, you're not going to die," Sam admonished him.

    "No listen, I mean it!" Al ordered sternly, trying to be as commanding as possible, even though his eyes were still wet. "If anything...happens to me...I want you to...promise me something."

    Reluctantly, Sam agreed. "Okay."

    Gulping, Al closed his eyes and tried to reel in his breath and his emotions simultaneously. When he looked at Sam next, he was determined. "When they fix that retrieval program...and get you back, Sam...Don't leap back to save me." Hot tears were welling up again; he pleaded, "You take home and you, you hold onto it...as hard as you can! You understand? You stay there! Because...because I'm not going to lose you a third time! You promise me!"

    Sam's hand was being crushed by the force of Al's grip, but it was nothing compared to his shoulder or ankle, so he paid it no mind. The important thing right now, the thing at the forefront of his thoughts, was his grand epiphany, the moment where all of the puzzle pieces seemed to come together in his brilliant, swiss-cheesed mind. Because now he understood perfectly why his friend had joined him on this leap. This wasn't just about the Tanakas. It was about Al. 

    "I'm sorry. I won't make a promise I can't keep."

    "Sam, please!" Al begged, but Sam was unshakeable. 

    "This is about the last time you leaped, isn't it?" he asked, staring Al straight in the eye, "This is about 1945?"

    Ashamed, Al turned his head away. "I let you down, Sam..."

    "Is that what you think?" 

    "It's what I know!" Al turned back to him, burning with internal anger, "I failed that leap! I failed so badly...you had to rescue me...and get trapped in time all over again!" 

    "No you listen to me," Sam demanded, "You didn't fail."

    "Yes I did! If I'd just been quicker, done something different--"

    "You didn't fail!" Sam yelled with conviction, forcefully cutting him off. He wasn't going to let Al perpetuate any more falsehoods in his mind, because he'd had the truth all along. "You did everything you could, and it didn't work out. But _I_ made that choice to leap back, not you, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Because, Al, you _have_ to understand…you're more important to me than getting home." He squeezed Al's hand, as if by the action he could make him believe what he already knew was true. "You gave up your life for me. You helped me realize my dream, and I left you there, and you kept it alive. I know you must have a mountain of paperwork, you're stuck at the Project because I could leap at any time...Sometimes, on leaps, you don't sleep because our times are never in sync, and you're so tired you can barely stand, and you think I don't notice, but I do. I notice when you're wearing the same crumpled clothes, or there's shadows under your eyes, or you make some joke to cover up for the fact that something is eating you up inside. And if I haven't said it before, I'm sorry...I love you, Al. You've given up _everything_ for me. The least I can do is try to repay the favor. But even if I didn't owe you anything, I'd _still_ step back into that Accelerator Chamber. And when I get back home, you're going to be there, and you'll _still_ be the most important person in my life." Tears blurred his vision now too as he gave Al a heartfelt smile. "I've never blamed you for what happened. Please don't blame yourself."

    An immense gratitude swelled in Al's chest, more than he could ever put words to. This was so very Sam, he thought. It was times like this that reminded him why he was, and always would be, his dearest friend. And as much propensity Al had for being his own worst enemy, hearing Sam relieve him of fault took such a weight off of him. As he managed a small smile in return, he thought maybe there was room to forgive himself after all. 

    "Thanks, Sam."

    "I mean it."

    Al stifled a shout and held his stomach tight, and his mind was gone again, detached and somewhere far away. So much for the Kodak moment. Mortifyingly, it felt like he had to take the biggest bowel movement of his life, and he hoped beyond hope he wouldn't soil himself and add insult to injury. His groin, thighs, and hips were gnawing at him, and somehow even his posterior hurt. _How_ was that even possible? He couldn't be alive right now. No human being had gone through this and come out the other side, he was certain. 

    Experience told Sam it must be getting close to time. Well, as much experience as a medical text book had told him. He'd been in labor before, but this was the first time he could recall being a midwife. Except, of course, when he'd helped deliver a calf on the farm. In any case, he wasn't about to tell Al that, he just had to pretend he knew exactly what he was doing. Besides, for all he knew, he'd delivered dozens of babies and it had slipped through the cracks in his mind. But he couldn't deny that he lacked experience in coaching his best friend through childbirth, because that was a new one. 

    "I think we're getting close. You ready?"

    Pursing his lips, Al managed an affirmative nod. 

    "Alright, let's take off your pants."

    Even though he was in a crippling amount of pain, Al's hand shot out and stopped Sam. He might be a man having a baby, but he'd be damned if he let Sam take his pants off for him. "Nngh...I can do it..." But instead of continuing to ease up, the contraction shot up again like lightning through him and he was paralyzed. He started firing off Italian curses, most of which Sam couldn't understand, although he had a pretty good idea of what was being said. "Fine...you do it...just get it outta me!" 

    "Okay, Al, just hang on..."

    Without any hint of embarrassment, Sam pulled down his pants as deftly as he could with one hand and tossed them aside. The motion sent knives through his shoulder, and he had to take a moment to collect himself. As he did so, Al began to shiver, and Sam's doctoring instincts took over again. He pulled the emergency blanket over Al's shaking legs, as much to warm him up as to try and protect his modesty for the time being. Not that it made much difference for what they were about to do, but Al appreciated it nonetheless. 

    "Alright...let's...get this over with..."

    "Do you feel the urge to push yet?"

    "I don't know..." Al gasped, exasperated, "I guess?"

    "You'll know," Sam said, "For now, we just have to wait for it."

    "Saaaam! Just pull it out, for god's sake!"

    "It'll happen, just take it easy." 

    "Take it easy?! _Mangia merde e morte!_ " Al spat out, squirming.

    While he continued to find new and innovative ways to swear, Sam saw a head of red hair poke through the wall. When Gooshie spotted Sam and Al, he stepped inside. "Hello again, Dr. Beckett. Admiral Calavicci. How're you holding up?"

    "I want to die!" Al hollered and curled in on himself.

    Sam gave a forced smile. "Things are just great. Did you find out how to get us to leap?"

    "Hm? Oh yes, we did!" Gooshie said cheerfully, "According to Ziggy, a police car is going to come by in approximately 10 minutes and 43 seconds. Actually, that's thanks to your call earlier in the day, Dr. Beckett. The car decides to do another sweep just in case, and our two culprits are caught."

    Sam's grin became genuine. "So we're about to leap out of here then!" He gave Al's shoulder an encouraging shake, and he was met with a strained but hopeful look.

    "Wellllll, not exactly. Unfortunately, in 6 minutes and 17 seconds, they're going to break inside and kill both of you."

    "GOOSHIE!" they yelled together. 

    "Why does everyone always yell at me like it's _my_ fault?" Gooshie questioned no one in particular, "I'm just telling you what Ziggy's extrapolated! But according to her calculations, if you can hold them off until the police arrive, you'll leap out."

    "Hold them off?" Sam repeated, thinking.

    "How the hell...are we supposed...to do that?" Al asked breathlessly. Suddenly he screamed, clamping his hand around Sam's arm. Unfortunately, he took Sam's bad arm, causing both of them to yell in unison. Al's fingers instantly let go, and Sam pushed his back against the wall in his own unendurable pain.

    "Oh Sam...We're boned...we're so boned..."

    "Shut up, Al, we're not boned," Sam winced.

    "What're we gonna do? Between...the two of us...we've got about...half a guy's manpower..."

    "Just let me think, okay?" Sam's mind went to work. He needed to set his thoughts in order, get past the pain and come up with a feasible plan for two severely handicapped men to take on two mostly able-bodied murderers. 

    And then came the aha moment. A lightbulb went off in his head, and he knew what to do.

    "I have an idea..." He muttered, preoccupied, reaching for his crutch.

    "What? What is it?" 

    Ignoring Al's question, Sam hobbled to the door. "I'll be right back. Gooshie, stay with him."

    "You're leaving Gooshie with me?! Sam!"

    Taken aback, Gooshie fumbled out, "Stay? Oh! Um, s-sure thing, Dr. Beckett!" And Sam was gone. 

    Well, this was awkward. Al felt no comfort in having Gooshie as his new caretaker, and he'd feel pretty much the same way had he been tangible. Out of all of the people in the world to choose to be in a life or death situation with, Gooshie would be the last kid picked in dodgeball. It was no matter. Al was too wracked with pain to pay him any attention.

    Not that Gooshie didn't try. He put on a nervous smile and bounced on the balls of his feet, possibly to imitate Al's mannerisms, an invisible show put on for an audience who could care less. Maybe if he acted more like an Observer, he'd feel more like one. "Don't you worry, Admiral Calavicci," he said, chipper, "I had a cousin who had a heck of a time giving birth, lasted 13 hours, but she said it was one of the most rewarding experiences of her life!" 

    Oh god. This was worse than Sam's Lamaze lessons. 

    "Gooshie..." Al's eyes were shut as he attempted to separate himself from his body, zero in on anything other than the agony. "...do we hang out...back at the Project...?"

    "Er, well--"

    "Never mind...Let's never start..."

    "Fair enough, Admiral."

    The door opened and Sam returned, leaning against it and resting his leg. Thank god, time, fate, or whatever for small favors, Al thought.

    "Dr. Beckett! We were just discussing--"

    "Stick it up your ass, Gooshie!" Al shouted irritably, "What're you thinking, Sam?"

    "I have a plan. A really, really bad plan."

\-------

    Jack had grown impatient. It wouldn't be night much longer, and he didn't like being out in the open like this. Apparently those dead people walking had decided to hole themselves up in there, and that meant taking a more proactive approach. He didn't mind. He enjoyed the chase. And so Greg had gotten a crowbar, and they'd busted their way in. Not wanting to risk their victims escaping out the other way, Jack broke through the door in the alley while Greg came in through the front. 

    The broken door creaked open, and Greg edged inside, gun first. The pharmacy was dark and looked abandoned, but he knew better. They could be hiding behind the small shelves, and if they were, he was going to find them and blow their brains out. Slowly, he took a step forward and peered around a shelf of bathroom products. 

    "Hey, over here!"

    He spun around to the call and fired, but the source of it had already disappeared. He recognized the voice as the husband. How many times was he nearly going to kill this guy, anyway? Angrily, he walked in the direction the voice had come from. 

    "Psst...This way."

    He'd moved, and so Greg changed direction too, hurrying down the aisle to catch him. Suddenly, the ground became slick beneath him, and his feet were sliding. He lost his footing, slipping comically to the ground. "What the hell...?" Underneath him, he could see the floor was coated with Vaseline. He didn't have time to contemplate this any further, because when he looked up, a crutch was cracking into his head.

\-------

    Before Jack had completely opened the door into the back room, he could hear the sounds of panting and groaning. His lip curling up, he made his way inside. The woman was on the floor under a blanket, damp and ragged, and in torment. 

    "Well well well...nice to see you again, darlin'." He chuckled and twirled his gun playfully. There was no need to rush this. She couldn't go anywhere, and that meant he had time to enjoy this. "Looks like you're in a spot of trouble."

    "I'm doing alright..." She gasped, eyes slit. Oh, she was still spunky. That meant he could still break her. 

    "Let me ask you a question there, sweetness," Jack said slowly, caressing the shelves as he brokenly sauntered closer, "Did I do that?" He waved the gun toward her stomach. "Because that would just be the icing on the cake for me...to know I put you in such a torturous state."

    The bitch didn't answer. Instead, she gave a tired, but defiant, grin. "How's the leg...?"

    His smirk turning sour, Jack slowly lifted the gun. "Maybe I'll let you know how it feels...What do you think, should I start with the kneecaps?" 

    "I think...you shouldn't whip out your piece...unless you're ready to _use_ it."

    Al took his hands out from under his blanket, producing a fire extinguisher and liberally spraying his assailant. As the pressure hit the unsuspecting man in face, he staggered back into one of the shelves. Once he'd hit the right spot, Al yanked hard on a line of dental floss next to him. The line lead to the bucket, propped up on top of the shelf, which CLANGED into the other man's head. He crumpled to the floor, out cold, covered in a mixture of foam and vomit. 

    "That was for Kiyoko...asshole..."

    This seemingly Herculean task completed, Al sunk onto his sore back again just as Sam was coming back in. Frankly, he was astounded this had worked. After everything that had almost killed them tonight, the winning plan was _Home Alone_ -ing it? After grabbing the gun, Sam moved over to Al and used his crutch to lower himself down.

    "Hey, are you okay?"

    "I got him..." 

    "You sure did." Sam smiled proudly. Al returned the sentiment before glaring at the unconscious monster on the floor. 

    "He's not...going to...hurt anyone else...ever again..." 

    "You did it!" Gooshie, now having reappeared, exclaimed ecstatically, "Emi Oshiro was sentenced to 20 years for aggravated kidnapping and assault, and Greg Quinn and Jack Littleton are charged with attempted robbery and attempted murder. Quinn is still in jail, and Littleton...Oof!" He recoiled at the screen in front of him. "He's...stabbed to death in a prison fight in 1989." He shook it off in favor of the happier outcome, clasping his hands behind his back. "But the good news is, Akio and Kiyoko Tanaka live! And they have a healthy baby girl named Megumi."

    Sam cracked a slight grin at the name. "Megumi. It means 'blessing,'" he told Al. 

    From the front of the pharmacy, they could hear a muffled voice calling out. "NYPD! Is anyone here?"

    "In here!" Sam shouted. He grabbed Al's hand and his smile grew wider. "Al. You did it. You completed a leap!"

    Exhausted, Al gave a small chuckle. " _We_ did, Sam. _We_ did. Nghh!" His grip tightened and his head sunk into the pillow again. "Hey, Sam..."

    "Yeah?"

    "You know...that urge to push...?"

    "Yeah."

    "Well I'm feelin' it..."

    "Oh!" Sam had been so focused on finishing the leap, he'd nearly forgotten Al's predicament, but he quickly snapped back into control. "I'll get you through this, just like I promised, okay?" Al nodded. Sam positioned himself in front of him as he prepared to bear down. "On the count of three. You ready?"

    "Ready!"

    "Three, two, one..."

    Al felt a violent flash of pain, which became a literal flash, a blinding blue, and he suddenly found himself standing in the Imaging Chamber. Gasping in surprise, he looked down to find himself in one of his favorite purple suits. He'd leaped back! And he felt like he could run a marathon! Oh, the joys of being a non-psychosynergized _man_! All of his agony had disappeared, and he felt like his old self again. He was so ecstatic, he gave a whoop of joy and punched the air. 

    "Admiral Calavicci?"

    Twisting around, he found a very confused looking Gooshie standing on the disk, handlink still wrapped in his fingers. The leap must have just concluded. 

    "Gooshie! It's great to see ya, buddy!" Al swooped him up in his arms, lifting him slightly from the ground. It wasn't an easy task, but after everything that he had gone through the last few days, it was a piece of cake. Gooshie's breath, however, would be difficult for anyone to stand, so the embrace was short-lived. Dropping the befuddled programmer to the ground, Al circled around to search the Chamber. "Where's Sam...?"

    His heart sunk as he realized where he was. Although he knew his leaping was an unusual circumstance, there was a part of him, deep inside, that believed Sam would leap back with him. But the only people in this room were him and Gooshie, and he knew this had been a single leaper trip. "He didn't leap with me...did he?"

    "I'm afraid not."

    "Figures," Al said, disappointed. Then, playing it off, he smirked. "He's still Mr. Boy Scout. He won't come back until he's fixed _everyone's_ problems." 

    Although he was saddened to not see Sam, to know he could no longer touch him, give him a huge hug or an encouraging pat on the back, he took comfort knowing he was still out there somewhere, doing the right thing. And thanks to him, Al had made it back to the Project to live another day. That was so very Sam, he thought once again.

    There was, however, a friend he _could_ reach out to. 

    "Gooshie," Al said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Do you want to get a cup of coffee?"

    "I have some work to finish..."

    "You can finish it later. C'mon." Ignoring his excuse, Al led him toward the Imaging Chamber door, which slid open as if on cue. 

    "Welcome back, Admiral," came Ziggy's sultry tones. 

    "I love to hear your voice, Ziggy!" 

    "You sure do know how to flatter a girl..." It was unusual for these two to get along so well, but Al was telling the truth. He'd missed that bucket of bolts, ego and all. It's amazing what almost dying will do for your perspective. 

    "Here, take this." Al said, handing Gooshie one of his cigars, and he pulled another one out of his pocket for himself. 

    "I don't really smoke, Admiral," Gooshie tried to politely decline. 

    "Oh. Good, that means more for me." Al took the cigar back as if it had never been offered. "You seem tense, Gooshie. Trust me, you need this cup of joe. I know I do. Now get going." He pushed Gooshie toward the door. "Oh, and, uh, sorry about telling you to stick it up your ass and all that."

    "No offense taken," Gooshie said, genuinely, then, "Oh, and Admiral?" 

    "Yeah?"

    The programmer gave a big, enthusiastic grin. "It's good to have you back."

    Al dismissed him playfully with the wave of a hand. "Don't get mushy about it."

    Used to this by now, Gooshie accepted that as thanks and exited the Chamber. As Al started to follow, he stopped and turned around, facing the empty blue walls. A bittersweet smile played on his lips, a new confidence in his heart and an old weight off his shoulders. 

    "Thanks, Sam. For everything."

    He made his exit, and the door whooshed closed.


End file.
